When The Boogeyman Is Real And You Look For Him
by Otis'Girl
Summary: A horror fan discovers that her favorite movies, Devil's Rejects and House of 1000 Corpses, were secretly based in real facts. Intending to change the killers' fate, she goes back in time and interacts with the Fireflys.
1. It’s All True

**Disclaimer: **This was written for fun and not profit, the standard blah blah blah. There is brief mention to the real actors, and some, uh, _non-flattering_ comments about Rob Zombie, but they are **purely fictional** and necessary for the plot. Rob rocks! If anyone minds it, please let me know and I'll remove it.

**Warning!** This was based in two sick, amazing horror movies, and it's rated M. As it's implicit, expect strong adult themes, strong coarse language, lots of blood and violence.

o o o o o

**Chapter 1 – It's All True...**

What was I possibly thinking? Half wanting to slam my head against the wall, I wonder - had I eaten some sort of poisoned or spoiled food that went straight to my brain, making me do what I did? All I know is that, last week, I did the stupidest, most put-me-in-a-straightjacket-and-send-me-to-the-loony-bin thing of my entire naive life. And I probably have the smartest, most powerful guardian angel, too, since I'm here – relatively in one piece – to tell the story.

Okay, I know that this will sound crazy. Or maybe not – maybe you've heard the rumors. The fact is, the characters that Rob Zombie _claims_ to have created for his two movies (_House of 1000 Corpses_ and _The Devil's Rejects_) are not characters. They are (or were) _people_. They really existed, and those movies are nothing more than a cheap reproduction of real facts that occurred in the seventies.

Oh please, don't dismiss me with that rolling of eyes. It's true.

Mr. Zombie's religious preferences are no mystery to anyone. Probably using some user-friendly, straight-from-hell powers, he was able to "see" the sordid events with his own eyes, over 20 years after they occurred. Or maybe, the facts were presented in a big screen in a theater full of Satanists eager to learn some lessons in true evil. (Who better than the Firefly family to teach them?) But that is just my guess – I don't know how Satanism, black magic, or whatever that is, works. I just know the results. And the result is that the guy transformed the whole thing into a movie. Very clever.

Obviously, people watch those two movies enjoying themselves, munching their popcorn and laughing, cheering for the bad guys and asking for more blood to be spilled. They don't have a clue that, not that long ago, those same funny lines were spoken by a real Captain Spaulding; those cheerful giggles came from the lips of a real Vera-Ellen - better known as Baby -; and some rusty, bloody knife did its share of cutting on the artist hands of a real Otis.

Otis. I always had an enormous attraction for that sociopath cold-blood murderer. In the beginning I fought to understand it – it didn't make any sense; what was there to _like_ about him? Considering all of my sweet, _normal_ boyfriends of the past, that attraction was certainly out of the norm. But soon I stopped giving it a second thought. Otis was just a movie character, right? A little fantasy couldn't kill anyone, right?

Oh, and the conventions! They were so exciting for the lucky fans that lived close enough to attend it. Fangoria Weekend of Horrors, Monster Mania, ComicCon, Screamfest – you name it – they all could count with the presence of the Rejects cast. I could barely contain my contentment the first (and second, and third!) time I shook hands with Bill Moseley, Sid Haig, Matthew McGrory and others. They were such great people, so very likeable.

They would have been so deeply ashamed to know about their close resemblance to the "characters" they played. Even that sordid detail hadn't escape to Rob Zombie. Not only had he reproduced the scenes just as they happened... he had made sure to hire look-alike actors. Oh, of course they are completely unaware of that, I'm sure, to this day.

It was after watching The Devil's Rejects that I learnt the truth. (I cannot reveal the source of information or any more details, so please don't ask.) But my reaction was quite unexpected, even to myself. Yes, I was very angry that someone had built a reputation for himself by exploiting sickening past events; I was shocked to learn that some human beings could ever be so unbelievably cruel and enjoy the suffering of other human beings; and I was scared to death about the whole supernatural aspect of it. (It's not like _I_ have demonic powers to see back in time.) But more than all that, my predominant feeling was of sadness.

Sadness for them. They all had died so early. You know the story: Rufus being shot in his own house; Mother stabbed in prison; bloodthirsty vengeful sheriff capturing and torturing Baby, Spaulding and Otis; Tiny rescuing them and willingly burning with his house; and the death of the remaining trio by a ton of flying lead – and you know that I don't mean cancer.

Yes, despite of all the atrocities that they had done, I couldn't help but feel sorry for them. I cried and sobbed and lost sleep over a bunch of homicidal maniacs that died leaving a clean path for a better world.

Who am I lying to?

It was for Otis alone that I grieved.

And it was because of Otis that I did that larger-than-life stupid thing that I mentioned earlier in this report: I traveled back in time to try and save him.

o o o o o

o o o o o

A double Bachelors degree in Electronics and Computer Science, with a PhD in Physics – _that_ is the brother to have. Lucky me. An older, genius brother, capable of inventing useful devices when his little sister is in need of saving psychopaths. Including time machines.

"Why do you need one for?" he asked, without taking his eyes off of the computer screen filled with language codes I am unfamiliar with.

"Because I'm nervous? You know that caffeine calms me down, unlike other people that get all-"

"Not your coffee, moron" he interrupted, finally looking at me, seeing me press the mug against my palms as if holding to it for dear life. "The bloody time machine. What is there in February 1978 to hold your interest?"

"Oh." I had done some research on the internet, trying to find an excuse to my brother – some exciting historical fact that took place at that time and place, mind-blowing enough for me to beg him to build a freaking time machine. I found nothing, and on top of that I'm a terrible liar, so I decided that omission was my best bet.

"You are gonna have to trust me on that, _mano_."

"You are not going to get yourself in trouble, right?

Trouble? Of course not, I felt like saying. I'm just going to visit a nice family. Very hospitable and friendly people. "_Mano_, I'll be fine. Please finish this machine, will you?"

He shrugged it off and didn't question me further.

Now, don't expect me to explain how he built the damn thing; it's not like I can tell a Newton from a Joule (in theory at least!). So if you're all curious about the technicalities, e-mail me in private and I'll give you my brother's phone number. He'll be happy to spend a few hours ruthlessly burning your grey matter. The Fireflys' torture chamber will sound appealing in comparison.

Soon enough the machine was ready, and I was ready. Naturally, I was too much in a hurry (although the past wasn't going to go anywhere!) to bother doing some more research, reading the movie scripts, watching the Reject's on the theaters again (I had only seen it twice) or, at the very least, buying a weapon. Yes, a gun would have _definitely_ been useful. Today I sarcastically clap hands to my own thoughtlessness.

The only thing I had dueled on was the exact date to go to. I knew that the family had died on summer or spring of 1978, and the facts from Corpses had happened in Halloween 1977, so I decided to go somewhere in between. February seemed right.

"I'll be back before you know it" I assured my brother, kissing him in the cheek. I took a deep breath and stepped in the mirror-looking time portal.


	2. Welcome to Ruggsville, 1978

Chapter 2 – Welcome to Ruggsville, 1978

I woke up lying on the side of a road, my face in the dry dirt. I got wide awake in two seconds, jumping to my feet with excitement. Am I in the right place? I wondered, tapping the dust off of my clothes. Looking around, that place didn't look any different from California. I began walking along the road, carrying only a small backpack. The sun had just set when I awoke, and it was getting darker by the second.

In twenty minutes I stopped in front of a sign. With a big grin, I _knew_ that I was in the right place. The sign had an arrow pointing to the direction I was going, and it read "Fried chicken and gasoline."

Soon enough, there I was – standing like an idiot in front of Captain Spaulding's gas station and horror museum. All of a sudden, I wasn't sure if I had the guts to go in there. I hesitated. Now only clowns in general gave me the creeps, that one clown in particular frightened me more, and for a good reason. I saw his scrapbook in Rejects, he was a killer too – although I doubted that killing was his main hobby, as Otis and Baby.

What if he murders me? I thought, my stomach starting to hurt from nervousness. What if he forces me into that creepy murder ride and guts me like a pig, all the while laughing loud and showing his rotten teeth? What if he rapes me? The memory of his sex scenes in Rejects crossed my mind. Hell no! That _very_ disturbing idea seemed so much worse than being gutted alive.

I'll be fine, I assured myself, trying calm down my fast breathing. I'll just have a casual chatting with the Captain, smile a lot and play dumb, get him to draw me a map to the House and get the hell out of there.

When I was more or less calm, I assumed a confident attitude and walked in there.

The famous Museum of Monsters and Madmen was empty, and it could have used a brighter lamp or two. No one was behind the counter, so I took my time to look around. Rob Zombie didn't get it quite right on the movie, but the idea was the same – a large display of weird and shocking objects, most of which I didn't dare to give a second glance, or wonder where they came from. In the back of my mind I _knew_ that a lot of it was Otis' "artwork", but I kept in denial not to lose my cool. I could leave panicking and being grossed out for later.

Approaching the counter, I barely rang the bell when a large figure jumped up as fast as a spring, screaming a cheerful "HAAA!" while I did my own jumping and screaming.

"Ha ha ha ha ha ha! I scared the living guacamole out of you!"

What a clown, that Cutter.

I forced a little "ha ha ha", studying him for a moment. He was wearing thorn, stained jeans and a very old, dirty t-shirt saying "Sometimes I pee when I laugh." And when I saw that face in white, black, pink and blue makeup, I stared. "Gosh, you _do_ look a bit like Sid" I said without thinking.

"Poor bastard!" he exclaimed, much louder than necessary. "Who's this Sid? He your boyfriend?"

Fuck, I thought. _Think_ before you speak, you idiot! "No" I smiled, "Sid... _Johnson_, he is my neighbor, and he looks just a tiny bit like you. Not much. I'm Laura, by the way." I reached my hand for him to shake, but instead he splashed some water on my face, pressing a button on a little clown head that was handy.

"Ya ya ya ya ya ya ya!" He teased annoyingly, while I forced another smile. "What can I do for you, Laura? Need some gas, some maps, or maybe some of my tasty fried chicken?"

"Actually, I'll be traveling around this area for a few days, so I'm just kind of exploring the place." Yeah, right, as if there is much to explore in that middle-of-nowhere town.

"I see" he said, studying me. "How do you like my museum?" He made an ample gesture with his arm, encompassing the room. "I've been collecting these pieces for too many years."

I followed his gesture, and my eyes caught on something that I wasn't prepared to see. "Fish-Boy," I murmured to myself, in shock.

"What did you say?" the clown looked at me suspiciously.

"That's called Fish-Boy, isn't it?" I tried to sound animated. "I've heard about it, it's quite a piece! Someone told me about it on the grocery store, uh, the one a few blocks from here. Plus, it's kind of obvious – half a fish, half a, uh, boy, right? Imitating it, of course!" I laughed. Then I urged myself to stop blabbering like a first-time criminal trying to deny his guilt in a police interrogation. "Yup, great piece."

"Hey, I bet ya would love riding my Murder Ride. Come on, let me take you there-"

"No thanks!" I said too quickly, because he was already walking away from the counter. "I mean, I would love to, but it's been such a long day and I'm tired. I – I'll come back another day."

Looking disappointed, he suggested "Okay then, but I won't let you leave this place without trying some of the best fried chicken in the whole state!" And saying that, he reached behind the counter and produced a greasy, brown bag that he offered me. I grabbed it and looked at it, trying to hide my disgust, but he wasn't going to cut me a slack. "Come on, give it a bite!"

I reached inside the bag and my fingers touched this oily, warm skin. I took it out – a chicken leg. It was hard not to show revulsion, considering the dirty cook standing in front of me, not to mention the preserved dead _things_ all over the museum. Lord knows what I had in my hands. But the last thing I wanted was to offend a psychopath murderer clown, so I put that thing in my mouth and took a bite.

"What do you think? Do I or don't I make the tastiest fried chicken you ever ate?" he challenged confidently.

"You actually do!" I exclaimed with deep relief. The damn thing _did_ taste good.

As I was finishing it, I bent over the counter, in a just-between-us attitude. "You know... I have heard something else about this town, something _very_ interesting."

"Oh you did? Well, shit the bed! What else did you hear about this peaceful town of ours?"

"I've heard" I said, keeping my voice low and my adrenaline high, throwing the bone in a small trash can and wiping my fingers on the brown bag "about the legend of Dr. Satan."

He stared into my face with a smile. "You did?" Now it was his turn to bend towards me. "Anything else?"

"Some guys told me about the tree where this Dr. Satan was hung, that it's not far from here. I was just wondering" I managed to say that without having my voice fail, "if you could point me in that direction."

"As a matter of fact, that place is not far at all. But tell me – you said you are traveling? You alone?"

"Yes, I'm by myself, and I should probably get going soon – still need to look for a hotel to spend the night."

The old Captain showed me his nightmarish teeth in a big grin. "Beautiful girl, wandering around all by herself, at night, in a dangerous place like this. That's not right. I'll tell you what. I know some nice people that run a bed and breakfast place around here. The place is not a fucking Hilton, but you'll be comfortable there. You can ask them about the tree the next morning. What do you say?"

I had a pretty good idea which "bed and breakfast place" was that. My stomach turned inside out with fear. But hey, I told myself, wasn't exactly that what you wanted? You couldn't have been luckier, girl! "That sounds great, Captain. If you would draw me a map, I'll be heading to that place right away."

The clown threw some keys up in the air and grabbed them back, walking towards me and placing an arm around my shoulder. "No need for a fucking map, lady. Captain Spaulding here will drive you there himself."


	3. This is the House, Come on in!

**Chapter 3 – This is the House, Come on in!**

As the car came to a full stop in front of the house, my nails were nearly drawing blood from my palms, so tightly pressed in there. I felt this confusing mix of euphoria and panic – euphoria because that was the infamous house where my all-time favorite killers lived. And panic... well, for that same reason.

Some small, still sane part of my brain was telling me that it wasn't too late; that I could manage to escape from the old clown, run back to where I came, enter the portal and go back home, then sleep in my own fluffy pillow and pretend that this day had never happened. But there was no shutting up my internal giggling – I was happy like a teenage girl going to her fist concert of an idolized boy band. The only difference was, I wasn't about to meet the Backstreet Boys.

"This is it," he announced, "let me introduce you to my friends. They are like family to me."

We walked to the door. As he knocked, my head was spinning. The door soon was opened – first, just enough for a pair of green eyes (each with a pound of mascara) to peek outside, then wide open. "Hello, big tiger!" she greeted in a warm, sensual voice, wrapping her arms around his neck, sinuous like a cat. Then she looked at me. "Oooh, I see you brought a present for us!" Her luscious tone was... disturbing.

Laughing softly, Cutter introduced me. "This pretty girl is from out of town, and she told me she was looking for a place to stay the night. I told her, hey, you can't just pick a random hotel in a strange town, you never know the freaks you may find there! I know a place where you would be in good hands."

"You did well, Spaulding. Now, come on in, dear, say goodbye to the Captain." As she motioned for me to get in, I curtly waved to the man and she closed the door behind us.

"I am Laura" I said with a smile, offering my hand for her to shake. "Thank you for having me in your house, ma'am."

She woman touched the tip of my fingers into a light squeeze. "I am Mother Firefly. Make yourself at home, my sweet."

I deposited my backpack in the floor and took a place on the couch. Mother sat on a chair across me, crossing her legs and proudly displaying her purple platform heels. We openly studied each other in silence, exchanging pleasant smiles. Of course I wouldn't have stared at another woman like that, it was rude, but knowing that she was crazy and much of an exhibitionist, I knew she wouldn't mind.

Mother Firefly wasn't either a Karen Black or a Leslie Easterbrook look-alike, but the idea was there – a middle-age, long-haired blonde that could have been beautiful, if perhaps she had lead another kind of life. But her skin looked tired and uncared for; she seemed to be a member of the same dental plan as the old clown, although her teeth weren't nearly as bad; and her taste for fashion was quite questionable. As now, she was wearing some artificial-looking pink lipstick, almost matching the nail color. Her hand had been heavy on the eye makeup. Her dress was a minuscule and tight piece of purple shiny fabric, matching the shoes I mentioned earlier. She looked like a strip dancer gone old and demented, and she never abandoned her affected movements and her look-at-me-I-am-horny overall behavior.

A large head covered by a mask peeked from behind a nearby door. As far as I knew, he was the most harmless member of that family (all in the right perspective), so I spontaneously waved and exclaimed a "Hi!" for him. Mother looked over her shoulder. "Oh, my baby boy! Come over here and meet the pretty girl. Don't be shy!"

As he took his slow, heavy steps toward us, his body bent in that strange form similar to the one onscreen, I actually took some comfort from his presence. Who knows if I may need him? I thought. Because for all I knew about Tiny, he wasn't mean-spirited, just a retard of some sort, who did exactly what people told him to do – being that a murder or an act of random kindness. Chances were, I may find myself in need of some rescuing.

"It is nice to meet you, Tiny" I told him, and I meant it. "I know your name because Captain Spaulding told me; he said to watch out for the big boy of the family."

Mother laughed, delighted that someone was giving attention to her _baby_. "See my boy, she likes you!" And in a confidential tone: "Maybe if you warm up a bit for her, you'll get yourself a girlfriend!" She laughed some more, as if anticipating the wedding. "You should spend some time getting to know Tiny" she told me, as if he wasn't there. "He is a little bit shy, but he is-"

"Let me guess: a lady killer!" I interrupted with a big smile. "You just take one look at him, and you know it!"

That was the one intelligent thing I had done so far. Mothers. The best way to befriend them is to flatter their kids. And in my situation, I would need all the sympathy I could get.

oooooooooooooooooooooooo

oooooooooooooooooooooooo

"Who's that, mama?"

We all looked where the girlish voice came from. Her tone was cautious and clearly unwelcoming – and so was her expression. She looked ready to attack me.

"Baby, this is Linda-"

"Laura", I corrected.

"- a guest your daddy brought here."

Baby's expression softened; she opened a big grin. "A guest!" she jumped childishly. "We can play games and have a lot of fun!"

I can only assume she initially thought I was trouble – a cop, social service or something. That family tended to keep strangers in places like the basement, or maybe cut into pieces in the fridge. But the living room couch? That was new, and it probably confused her.

Baby jumped next to me, kneeling and proceeding to play with my hair, rolling locks of it around her finger. I felt like a big Barbie doll.

And she certainly looked like one. Rob Zombie didn't exaggerate – the little bitch had been very beautiful, even more than Sherri. One may wonder if their alikeness had been a coincidence, or Mr. Zombie purposely dated girls with that look. Questions, questions...

"So where are you from?" she asked excitedly.

"Born and raised in California" I stated simply. She didn't need to know that I wasn't born yet in 1978.

"Noooo!" she exclaimed, fascinated. "Don't tell me you live close to Hollywood!"

"I do, it's not that far."

Baby giggled, finding that the most exciting thing. "Oh, shit! Close to all those movie actors!" she pushed me hard, but playfully. "Have you ever met any of them? Did they invite you over for dinner or something? Fuck girl, you could fill an application and become an actress yourself, what do you think?"

I stare at her pretty, demented face and smiled. Yes, I felt like saying, I met the actress who played _you_. She isn't crazy like you, though. No, normal people don't jump out of the blue and invite complete strangers over for dinner. And I have the feeling that that application wouldn't do much for my acting career. But of course I didn't say any of that; I just told her "I don't know anybody important, and I just want to be a teacher."

"Ah." Losing interest quickly, she jumped to her feet, restlessly moving around.

"Dinner time!" Mother announced, raising from her chair. "Baby, my angel, set the table for us, will ya?"

"Sure mama" and she was out of there.

"Dinner time is sooo important" Mother told me solemnly. "It's the time where the whole family gets together, when each member shares what happened in the day. It's quality time we spend with each other. If only Otis would join us more often!"

I nodded in agreement, as I saw a huge man with a shiny black mane entering the room. He was way past six feet tall – closest to seven, if I had to guess – and the proud owner of some serious muscles. God help anyone ever being in a fight with that one.

"Oh," I said "another family member for me to meet!"

"Of course, my sweet," she proceeded in her lazy tone "I hope you don't take it personally, but as I said, this is family time, and you are not from our family. So we'll talk to you later."

Blinking a few times, I tried to grasp the meaning of that. It didn't take too much blinking, though – I got my answer soon enough.

Mother told the giant: "Rufus honey, please show the lady her room. And be a gentleman."

Rufus walked towards me with decided steps and a neutral, unreadable look on his face. That is, what I could see from his face, since his hair was covering most of it, further assisted by a growing beard. I thought that I was going to break my neck just by looking up at the giant towering me. I said hi and smiled – but the smile didn't last.

I was caught completely unprepared when he turned his enormous right hand into a fist, then pulled his elbow behind looking me in the eye. Before I could say a word or even think to step back, that fist smashed against my face, putting me out instantaneously. I have only vague recollections of being grabbed, tossed against a powerful shoulder and carried away.


	4. In the Basement

**Chapter 4 – In the Basement**

The constant sound of weeping and painful moaning finally woke me up, taking me from my sheltering state of oblivion, throwing me back to my not-so-sweet reality.

Not sweet at all.

As soon as I moved the least bit, waves of pain hit my face. My left cheek burnt, it felt like the cheekbone had been shattered – later on I found out it hadn't, it was just dark purple all over. My right cheek wasn't much better on – apparently I had been tossed on the hard concrete floor, probably pushed around at night by my cage mates. It felt raw and burnt – along with my right arm – but still not as much as the left side. Disoriented and hurt, I opened my one and half eye (the left was partially shut by the blow), nauseated with the horrible smell and taste of the piece of rag stuffed in my mouth. (To this day I refuse to consider what the rag had been used for, before. Considering its state, it's a good thing that I never found out.)

Goddamn fucking Rufus, I screamed inside my head. Your mother told you to be a _gentleman_, you asshole!

Unless that behavior was that family's standard for a gentleman. Which probably was.

Trying to move, I found my hands attached behind my back. That only brought me an additional discomfort – my wrists. They were tied together too tight; I could barely feel my hands. What is this for? I thought angrily. I'm inside a goddamn cage, it's not like I could go anywhere.

If you die here, I told myself, it's natural fucking selection. You had no fucking business coming here. What did you expect – being treated with tea and crackers?

Tea and crackers. Breakfast, uhmmmm, my stomach roared. I was so hungry. Cutter's small fried chicken leg had been the last thing I ate in... how many hours? I couldn't tell if it was day or night, there was not a window in that room.

The room.

Look around, Laura, I told myself. Sit up and see where you are. Face the music! You can't keep in denial forever. Keeping your eyes closed won't help you.

So I slowly sat, first looking at the bars in front of me. That was a pretty narrow cell, not designed for a good stretching of legs. When I looked at my right, I almost wished I hadn't. There were three other girls and one young man sharing my cage, each in a more deplorable state than the next. They were tied and gagged just like me – except for one girl, but she didn't make a peep, staring at a fixed point with glazed eyes. They had plenty of cuts and bruises all over, featuring dry blood and dirt on their skin. Their clothes were thorn for the most part; only the girl in the middle wasn't that lucky, having only her panties to cover her.

The scarier part, though, wasn't their wounds. It was their expressions. Their faces were blank, the eyes were lifeless, as if they had seen too much horror and were ready to give up. As if they _wanted_ for it to end soon.

Remembering random scenes from the movies, it didn't surprise me.

Natural fucking selection, I accused myself again. These poor people did not have a say on this; _you_ had. You are here because of your own brilliant choice. Now _deal_ with it.

The weeping sounds came to me again. They came from the diagonally opposite side of the room. I bent closer to the bars and peeked.

There were two other women cuffed to the wall, arms raised high above their heads. One of them had a large bandage covering part of her chest, new blood making its way through it, wet-shiny.

I didn't want to see any more of that, so pulled back and rested my back against the wall. And waited.

oooooooooooooooooooooooo

oooooooooooooooooooooooo

After a while (one hour, three hours? I couldn't tell) I heard footsteps coming down the stairs. I held my breath in expectation; the moans across the room silenced. First I saw an old pair of boots stepping down, then a blue-a-long-time-ago pair of jeans, followed by a familiar "Burn this flag" shirt.

My heart raced, and I completely forgot to breath. Fear? Oh no. Excitement! Again I felt like the 12 year-old girl about to meet her favorite New Kid On The Block.

Finally I could see his face as he deliberately slowly approached the cage. And I wasn't disappointed. Rob Zombie had cast Bill Moseley very well, because they indeed looked very much alike. The real Otis, though, was even more impressive; he had this strong sexual aura about him, and something that screamed "dangerous". His expression was darker and his eyes were colder than Mr. Moseley's, a beautiful pale blue. They had the same long, fine gray hair, and the same lean, strong body. The real Otis looked a bit dirtier, too, as if it were possible.

Yum, I salivated.

Suddenly I forgot my precarious situation and became self-conscious. My face, I thought, goddamn it! I'm gonna kill RJ with my bare hands! I can't meet Otis Driftwood with my face all swollen and scratched! And my hair, it must be a mess! Instinctively I tried to reach for my hair, just to remember that my hands were still tied. I couldn't even _smile_ with that gross rag inside my mouth – I wasn't going to make an impression, I could tell. All I could do was stand up and wait expectantly, burning holes on him.

Otis stood there, looking at the four of us girls for no more than a few seconds. He produced a key from his jeans pocket, opened the cage door and, without giving me a second glance, grabbed the girl on my right by the arm, pulling her out. At that, she seemed to come out of her stupor briefly, but her resistance was meaningless to Otis. He locked the door again, as the terrified girl whimpered behind her gag. The man spat an impatient and almost condescending "Shut your mouth, bitch!" and dragged her upstairs effortlessly.

I watched in shock as they disappeared from my view. I took a glance at my remaining cell mates – they were quiet and blank-faced as before. I wondered if they had even noticed what had just happened.

Fucking son of a bitch, I thought in disbelief. He didn't pick _me_! He barely even looked at me!

I know – that kind of situation tends to awaken a variety of feelings in the victims involved. Anger, fear, helplessness, hate, regret, panic. But jealously isn't commonly one of them. I was furiously jealous of some unbathed, smelly psycho who had chosen to mess with another victim instead of me.

Ah, the ironies of human nature.

It is probably my hair, I tried to console myself. Then I sat down and did the only thing I could - wait.

oooooooooooooooooooooooo

oooooooooooooooooooooooo

Time ticked – again, I don't know how long. I was too hungry to think or try and make a plan; I was in pain, uncomfortable, and pissed off. My cage mates didn't provide me with the distraction of a good conversation, so on top of all I was bored.

Interesting – and stupidly – enough, I wasn't afraid. Looking back, I can only say I was in deep denial. That, or I was taking the whole time-travel thing as a semi-dream, not really thinking it was real. Or both combined. Or perhaps RJ's blow did something strange to my brain.

By the time I heard new descending footsteps – jumpy, faster than the previous – I was annoyed, thinking of a way to convey the message "I want to get the hell out if here!" Not knowing Morse Code, or anything clever coming to mind, I had my hands tied. Literally.

Baby jumped the last two steps, looking vivacious and well-humored. "Good-morning everybody!" she yelled, as if she were a self-help coach beginning a seminar entitled "10 Steps Towards Success" or "You Can Dream It – You Can Do It!"

"How is Veronica today?" she asked one of the women cuffed to the wall – the one with the bloody bandage – in a sing-song rhythm. "Did you sleep well?" There was no answer. The woman remained perfectly still, her body hanging heavily from her wrists, head bent against her chest. Baby grabbed her chin and moved her head from side to side. "Oooh, I think we have a sleepy kitty here. Kitty, kitty, kitty," she called in an infantile voice "time to wake up and see the sunshine!" As she released the woman's chin, her head fell back to her chest. Baby turned to us, an affected puzzled look on her face. "Did she die?" She bent and produced a small, sharp-looking knife from her boot. Naturally as one would do any everyday task, she pressed the tip of the knife on the woman's face, bringing it down and drawing blood. There was no reaction. Baby shrugged with indifference and walked towards our cage. "Yes, I guess she did!"

One of the girls beside me started to weep quietly. Baby stood in front of her. "And you, what are you crying for? You ain't liking our hospitality? That is _so rude_!" she emphasized with annoyance. "But you-" she pointed the knife to the girl beside her "if you behave yourself, I'll take you to my room later and we can listen to some music together! What do you say?" she exclaimed, looking very animated. As the gagged girl emitted a curt, non-identifiable sound, Baby giggled. "Okay then! I'll see you later!"

Then she turned to me. I stared back, defiantly. "Now, you... I don't know what they are gonna do with you" she said, faking concern. "I thought that we would get to know each other and become childhood friends," she said in a whinny tone and a sad expression, as a child who had been denied candy "but mama says that's a bad idea, that you're a fucking pig 'cause you were trying to spy on us and shit."

My eyes narrowed in confusion and indignation. Uh? What was she talking about? And why was she insulting me by calling me a _fucking pig_?

"And then, my daddy called last night to warn us" she stared at me, her arms crossed on her chest, changing her weight from one feet to the other. "He said to watch out with you, that you were acting strange and shit on his museum, saying that you were traveling and a bunch of shit that didn't make sense. Cutter is good in reading people, you know. He can smell a cop a mile away."

I opened my eyes wide, getting it. She meant a _cop_! I shook my head vehemently and tried to talk, frustrated that I could not. Yes, damn right I was spying on them, but a cop? It would have been funny if it hadn't been scary. I could not allow them to think that, or... I didn't dare to think _or what_.

"I could take it easy on you and finish this now," she whispered with a frown, fidgeting with the knife still smeared with the dead woman's blood. Then she opened a wide smile. "But I won't! My brother Otis loooves cops, he feels all warm inside when we even mention them. So I'm gonna go upstairs now and tell him about you, then the two of you can have some fun together. Bye!"

The "the two of you can have some fun together" part would have sounded very exciting and a motive for rejoice at any other time... but then, right at the "we think you are a cop" moment, it sounded downright scary. Otis didn't strike me as the type who makes friends with police officers, or finds them cool and interesting in any conceivable way.

Shit! Fuck! Shit! Fuck! Shit! Fuck, I cussed inside my head.

I had to stop watching those movies, I oddly thought. I was raised in a catholic school, for crying out loud, and for the most part I avoided using bad language. Now I was starting to acquire 'Fireflys & Partners'' poor vocabulary. My grandparents would have had a heart attack if they heard me.


	5. I Remember You

**Chapter 5 – I Remember You**

It didn't take long for Otis to storm in the basement, followed by Baby. He had a truly murderous look on his face. It matched perfectly with the truly murderous pistol in his hand. "Where is he?" he demanded, pacing in the small room, not seeing what he was looking for.

"Her" Baby pointed at me.

Otis looked at me intently, for the first time. He was slightly puzzled. "A _girl_?"

Good! I thought, much relieved, smiling at him with my eyes. Because I'm a girl, he's going to mellow down, even if he believes that I'm a cop.

Rolling his eyes and taking a deep breath, he opened the cage door, closed his hand around my arm into a tight grip, and pulled me out.

"What are you gonna do to her?" Baby asked as he pulled me along upstairs, excited curiosity in her voice.

"What do you _think_ I'm gonna do, Baby?" he answered with irritation. "I'm gonna do the _only_ fucking thing we do with pigs in this house."

At that, I began to scream behind the putrid rag, fighting back with all I had. Which wasn't much; not enough to even slow him down. He had said "_the only thing we do_", and I was positive he didn't mean cuddling. He dragged me out of the house, to the backyard, decidedly and without wasting words, in a let's-get-it-over-with, I-have-better-things-to do attitude.

As I weakly and inefficiently put resistance, trying to get loose of that iron hand probably giving me yet another purple spot, I concentrated, attempting to come up with a five-second brilliant plan to stay alive. None occurred to me.

Before, I had thought: worst case scenario, Otis and I will have a few hours of hot and rough sex, then he'll kill me and I'll die happy. But no, I was wrong; he wasn't even going to grant me that. What a waste of a time machine!

He stopped. "On your knees. Piggy-pie."

"No Slim Whitman on the background?" I thought bitterly, staring at the gun pointed at my face, then glanced up at his eyes in a silently plead.

"I said, _on your knees_" he repeated in a threatening tone, waiving at ground with his pistol, his hair flying behind him with the soft wind.

"Or what, are you going to kill me _twice_?" I thought. Slowly, I went down to my knees, since dying that way or standing really made no difference. All the while I didn't take my eyes off of his.

Otis looked down at me, gun pointed at my head, studying me for a few seconds. I kept holding his stare. To my surprise, he lowered the gun and, using his free hand, pulled the rag out of my mouth. "Any last words?"

"Yeah" I said, finding my mouth really dry. "Why didn't you rape me?"

He blinked in silence several times, furrowing his eyebrows. "_What?_"

It was the stupidest way to spend one's last words, but since I had gone out of my way to let that happen in the first place, I had to know. "Like the other girls in the basement," I explained calmly "and the others before them. Why am I the only one that has to die right away?"

Still looking very confused, he replied with additional anger: "I don't like cops, and I certainly don't fuck them. I just put a bullet in their heads and get them out of my sight. Does that answer your question?"

"But I'm not a cop!" I said eagerly. "I-"

He pointed the gun at my head again. "Girl, the next words that come out of your mouth better be some brilliant fucking Mark Twain shit, 'cause it's definitely getting chiseled on your tombstone."

Great. That was the perfect time to have an idea.

"Look into the back pocket of my pants" I asked, wide-eyed with fear. "There is something I have to show you."

After a moment's hesitation, still aiming the pistol, Otis bent down and reached for my pocket, grabbing its contents. A small stack of pictures. He glanced at the one on the top, then it caught his interest. He looked at it closely. He waved the gun away from me, using that hand to go through the pictures. Each one grabbed his attention more than the last. Finally he looked at me. "What the hell are these?"

"I made them."

He studied me with renewed interest. "_You_ made these?"

I looked at him innocently. "You don't like it?"

Otis hesitated for a few seconds. "Stand up" he ordered with impatience.

I promptly obeyed, happy to be on my feet again, after believing that I wouldn't go higher than the ground from there on. As he regarded me in silence, obviously waiting for an explanation, I cleared my throat and pointed at the picture on the top. "I call this one "Mermaid" – I hope you don't mind my blatant plagiarism of your work, but I couldn't resist. And this one-" I pointed to the next "is my favorite, Lizard-Girl. It took me three days to finish it, but it was _so_ worth it."

As Otis glanced a bit at me, a bit at the pictures, his face showing a mix of suspicion and admiration, I continued: "Then we have Bat-Baby, which could have been better if I had caught a larger bat, but it's still cool anyway. And here, can you guess what this is?"

He looked at the photo closely. "Was this a _deer_?"

I smiled. "That's right! It was, by far, the easiest one to make. I just had to cut its neck out, then stick the guy in from the waist up, add the antlers and the fur... and the final result is great." I kept quiet for a few seconds, allowing him time to make a decision. "So... what do you think?" I asked hopefully, knowing that the answer would grant me either a death sentence or my life back.

Otis looked at me, raising his brows and slightly curving his lips upwards. "I like these. A lot."

I grinned triumphantly. I owed my life to Adobe. Thank God they didn't have Photoshop in the seventies!


	6. Sweet Devil

**Chapter 6 – Sweet Devil**

My head was spinning so fast, I had to discretely lean against the wall to keep my balance. Only a few minutes before I had been on my knees, helpless, getting ready to have my brains blow. Now, I was in Otis' freaking bedroom, having an absurd conversation about art, explaining to him invented intricacies on how I supposedly killed people and made bestial sculptures out of them.

Of course, there had been the incredibly disturbing incident of entering his room and finding a couple of naked _corpses_ abandoned on his bed, one being the girl taken from my cage the previous night. But as the cold murderer that I pretended I was, I fought with all my might to keep the shock and revulsion out of my face.

"How the fuck did you found out about me?" he wanted to know.

"Well, you are such a master on this technique, and your art is so unique – of course these kind of news travel fast within the art community. Well, the _dark art_ community, which is considerably small so the gossip goes around faster."

"Yeah, but nobody's supposed to know about this shit." Was he just intrigued or suspicious? "Sometimes I show it to our guests, but when they leave they cannot talk anymore. How is it possible that you heard about it?"

I shrugged, showing ignorance. "That's California to you. All I know is, I was told to come over to Ruggsville, look for a Captain Spaulding, and mention a doctor Satan legend – I have no idea what that's about – almost like a secret code. And then Spaulding would point me to the artist."

"And you traveled all the way to this hellhole, by bus, to _meet me_?" He was incredulous.

"But of course! You have a reputation in California, Otis, they say you are the best in what you do. I've also heard that your art has deep meanings to it, that there is something philosophical about it. I simply _had_ to come, see if I could learn something with you. That is, if you would honor me by taking me as your student."

Otis' face was glowing with a grin. Sadistic murderer artists are no different from normal artists – or other human beings for that matter – when it comes to susceptibility to flattery. "Hey, I don't see why not. I suppose I could teach you some classes on this and that, and explain to you some of my ideas. If you could stick around for a few days."

It was my turn to grin. "Yes! I am free for a week or so, I would definitely like to stay. Thank you so much!" I looked at him with mischief. "But only if I don't have to sleep in the basement again."

He laughed. It was great to see that Otis had a sense of humor, after all – although a very dark one. "No, you ain't going there anymore. We'll find you some better accommodations." To my alarm, he walked towards me, looking serious again. I stood frozen on my place. Otis stood right in front of me, way too close for comfort. As I stared at him wide-eyed, he lifted a hand to my face, and I flinched. "I'm not gonna hurt you" he said low, softly running his fingers on my bruised skin, apparently analyzing the damage. "That was a fucking stupid thing to do," he continued in a soothing tone "coming here like that, and with a lie."

Now I was very alarmed _and_ confused. Didn't he buy into my story? I wondered fearfully. "What do you mean?"

"You came here saying that you were looking for a place to stay the night" he explained. "You didn't say nothing about looking for me. You almost got yourself killed." He took his hand off of my face, stepping back and placing both hands on his pockets.

I forced a smile. "I know. But I didn't know how approach the subject. I mean, imagine if I had knocked on the front door and said 'Hi, I'm looking for an artist, I don't know his name but his specialty is to carve sculptures out of people; does he live here by any chance?' "

Otis laughed heartily. "No, you're right – Mama would probably have killed you at the door, dragged your body inside and done something with it. I wouldn't have even known about it."

"It's comforting to know I did the right thing."

Otis walked to the door, semi-opened it and yelled "Someone bring me some ice!", then closed it again. He changed subjects. "I want you to show me your technique."

"Sure! Like I told you, I usually get all my tools ready and I start with-"

"I know that," he interrupted "but I want you to _show_ me, not tell me. I have a dead goat in the other room, or shall we use something else? Rufus could hunt something for us."

Oh no, oh no, oh no! I thought. Shit. He _cannot_ ask me to do that. No way in hell.

"The- the goat will be fine. But-"

"Good!" He walked up to the bed, studying the two bodies. "You can pick one of these – come here, take a look! We also have a guy downstairs, if you'd prefer a male."

How am I supposed to reply to that? I wondered, nearly in panic, approaching the bed and forcing myself to look at the corpses while keeping my cool.

Until one of the women moved her head from one side to the other, slightly opening her eyes. I screamed in horror and surprise, jumping backwards.

Otis laughed heartily at my reaction. "You ain't dead yet?" To my complete horror, he took a large hunting knife from his belt, walking around the bed and positioning himself behind the woman. Grabbing a handful of her hair, he raised her head and sliced her throat in a swift movement. As the woman began choking on her own blood, he dropped her head back on the bed, wiped the knife on his pants, and placed it back on his belt.

You couldn't have helped her, you _couldn't_ have helped her, I repeated to myself. She was destined to die anyway, and there was nothing you could do, it's not your fault.

"What?" he asked, obviously amused at my shock. "You look white as a ghost. I thought you said you did this kind of thing on your free time."

Trying hard to keep from fainting, as I saw the spasms coming to an end, I managed to come up with a reasonable answer. "I do the sculptures, I do all the cutting, of course, but I never said I do the killing myself. Someone does it for me. I'm still kind of new to this, you know" I said apologetically.

Otis chuckled. "Well, it's okay. You'll get use to it in no time."

As if my nerves weren't driving me to my limit yet, the door was suddenly slammed open, making me jump once again. That threatening, gigantic figure was standing there, staring at me in silence. Automatically I took a few steps backwards, drawing a hand to my chest in an unconscious gesture of protection.

"Wow, that girl is jumpy today!" Otis chuckled again. "I think she didn't like the way you treated her last night, Rufus. Look what you did to her face."

Rufus walked to the bed and dropped a small plastic bag with ice on the sheets. Although he wasn't a man of many words – heck, so far, no words at all! – his silence spoke volumes, and his presence always dominated the room. His impressive size contributed for that effect, of course, but mainly he had a strong, powerful energy surrounding him. He glanced back at me, than stared at Otis in clear disapproval.

"She is fine, she's not a cop, and she's gonna spend a few days here with us" Otis announced. "Keep an eye on her for me; make sure everybody treats her as my especial guest."

To me his face was unreadable, but Otis seemed to be satisfied with whatever silent answer he saw there. "Thanks. And Rufus, would you take these bodies outta here?"

As I cowered further back to a corner, as if trying to be invisible, I watched as the huge man grabbed each of the dead women's by the hair, pulling their heads to the extremity of the bed. Then, just as easily as one would do with two five-pound bags of rice, he tossed each body upwards, catching them by the waist under his arms, walking out of there without difficulty and wordlessly as he came.

Otis closed the door behind him. Briefly looking around, he grabbed one of his t-shirts that had been laying on the floor. Walking to the bed, then taking several ice cubes from the plastic, he deposited them on the t-shirt, closing it as an improvised bag. He came towards me, too close just like before, and saw me shaking. "You don't have to worry" he told me softly, probably attributing my nervousness exclusively to fear of his family. "You've heard me telling him that you are here as my guest. No one here will touch you."

I was starting to lose it. I couldn't stop shaking, and it was getting nearly impossible to pretend coolness. I knew that I was going to break down very soon. The fresh memory of my mistreat and helplessness; the basement with those dying and tortured people; the escape from an inglorious death by a thread; the sight of a woman being grimly killed, and the inability to do a thing about it; the pressure of assuming a false personality and inventing one lie after the other, or else; the witnessing of the grotesque handling of bodies; all the while having to act as if it was all normal. Not to mention the weirdness of being 27 years back in time, at a time where I hadn't even being born yet. I just couldn't take it anymore. _Hold on_, I urged myself.

As if all that wasn't enough to mess with my head, I still had to deal with a personal conflict. My enormous, undeniable attraction by the man in front of me, who was holding the shirt with ice and studying me with a concerned look.

I felt like I was insane for feeling such a thing. How could one _possibly_ feel that way, after witnessing what that maniac was capable of? Still, the attraction was so powerful, I felt like I could touch it in the air around me.

"Hello?" Otis called me softly.

I snapped back to reality. I realized that I had been staring at nowhere, glazed-eyed, so sank in thought I had ignored him for a while. I looked at him, disoriented. "Sorry."

He walked in closer, then carefully applied the cold compress to my cheek that had been punched. As he held it there, I looked into his eyes, touched. Otis could be the Devil himself, no question about it, but he could also be sweet, I realized. His gesture was immensely comforting.

After a few seconds, I took the compress from his hand and held it in place myself, not taking my eyes off of his face. Otis did not step back this time. He stood there looking at me for a while, then reached for my hair, moving his fingers over its length in a soothing gesture. "You are _really_ shaking" he gently stated the obvious. "Why are you so nervous?"

At that, I really broke down. My entire body was shaking heavily with my sobs, and I didn't try to hold them back. I cried so intensely as I hadn't cried in a long time. Instinctively and without giving it a second thought, I reached forward and wrapped my arms around Otis, clinging to him desperately, burying my face on his chest and continuing to cry. After a few seconds of hesitation, I felt his hands rest against my upper back.

When I was done crying, my sense of relief was immense, and I felt so protected. I slowly let go off him, and I looked into his eyes with my face all wet with tears. He gently wiped them away with his fingers, in a tender caress.

It wasn't clear who started it. In a second we were moving our faces closer, and I found his lips closing around mine. I was instantly transported to another dimension, or so it felt. Wrapping my arms around his neck and pulling him closer, feeling his long light hair on my fingers, I lost myself on his kiss. I was electrified by the effect of his rough beard rubbing against my skin, contrasting with the feeling of his soft lips, and his warm wet tongue swirling around mine. How could a mouth that speaks so many obscenities taste so sweet, is still a mystery to me. As he kissed me almost tenderly, as if merely attempting to comfort me, I clung to him hungrily, wanting to devour him. He soon responded with a new hunger, pressing me closer to his chest and deepening his kiss. I felt my body melting like hot steel, weakly leaning on him for support.

Until an alarm sign somehow reached me on cloud nine, and reason hit me. Gathering my strength back, Lord knows how, I abruptly pulled back from his embrace. Staring at him with eyes wide open, a quick pulse and out of breath, I panicked and fled the room. He didn't attempt to stop me.


	7. Lost in Thought

**Chapter 7 – Lost in Thought**

"House of 1000 Corpses" isn't a proper name for the movie. If Rob Zombie had gone to the past and met the Fireflys, like I did, he would have thought of something more fitting. Like "House of 1000 Feelings", for instance. Okay, maybe that wouldn't sell DVDs. But that house produced much more strong and contradictory feelings than corpses.

Like on my case. In that house, there wasn't a single idle moment, when I simply lived and breathed. No relaxing, letting it be. No, there were always strong emotions boiling; high levels of adrenaline constantly and dizzyingly pumping in my veins.

And I had just being there for half a day. The fun was just beginning.

When I got away from Otis' embrace and panicky ran out of his room, my adrenaline was high, all right. Skyrocketing would be a better term. I clumsily stumbled from one room to another, trying to find my way around the house. It seemed like Hurricane Hugo – no, not grandfather, I mean the natural disaster! – had stormed in and out that place; it was such a mess. But I didn't look much around; I wasn't in the mood for finding any corpses casually laying around, or Lord knows which inventive gross things could be there. So I kept looking for the exit, as fast as I could. In fact, I was in such a rush, I managed to crash into Tiny, who appeared out of nowhere.

After letting out a little scream, I realized it was him. "Oh, Tiny! I'm so sorry." Without knowing what to expect next, I kept staring at him and waiting, but he did exactly the same. Finally I told him, with a small smile: "Uh, I am looking for the exit. I need some fresh air." He raised his enormous, unnatural-looking arm, and pointed an also gigantic finger to my right. I smiled, once again liking the fact that he was around. Looking at him, I saw a disfigured, enormous man that hardly looked like a man – more like a monster. Still, he didn't strike me as a bad person. I couldn't sense either good or evil in Tiny. He was just himself, not living by moral standards – or the absence of them. Which would be very disturbing in a normal scenario, but considering where he was coming from, it was pretty comforting. "Thank you" I smiled at him, and followed the direction to the sunshine.

The sun was quite bright in that Texan afternoon. The air was moist and hot, and thankfully there was no wind raising the dust off the ground. I sat by the porch, enjoying my newfound freedom, and losing myself in thought. I was very surprised that no one had tried to stop me from going outside. It made me feel, for the first time, that I was truly a guest in that house, instead of a prisoner. The thought made me smile wide.

When I had first entered Otis' room, just a few minutes previously, I had been so much frightened and lost. But Otis had apparently bought into my lies, which made matters so much, uh, _less deadly_, for the time being. He had added some sugar to the mixture, a gentleness most unexpected, which had dissipated most of my immediate fears. I was so relieved, I could even stand the pressure of him asking me questions, and wanting me to make a Goat-Girl for him. Tough as hell, obviously, but I could handle it. And then things took a spin for the worse when he killed that woman in that aforementioned grotesque way, wiping her blood on his pants – why did he have to be so nasty? – as if purposely trying to shake my nerves again. But no, I still had some self-control left; of course they wouldn't let me keep it. Rufus had to get in there and ruin the last remains of my coolness. Which, thinking back, was not such a bad thing to happen. I mean – it put me in a momentary shock state, but it also awoke Otis' mellow side. I don't think Otis is the kind of guy who often makes a point of protecting damsels in distress – no, probably not often at all – so I didn't understand what was about _me_ that caused that. He tried to calm me so very sweetly.

But then there were the magnetic forces; the two opposite poles attracting each other. I felt like a tiny needle getting increasingly close to a powerful magnet, at some point getting powerless in her will to resist and not jump on him. Otis was the most powerful magnet I had ever experienced, and its force frightened me. Hell, he had not only attracted me to him when we were in the same small room... he had pulled me towards him when we were in two different states... 27 years apart! I wondered if there were truly Physics involved.

The kiss had been unavoidable – for me, at least. Being in Otis arms, tasting his lips and his tongue, smelling him, being scratched by his beard... it all felt so perfect, so... _right_. But at the same time, it wasn't right at all, reason told me with disapproving eyes. It was playing with fire... so much fire to burn hell with it.

Playing with fire was so uncharacteristic of me. I had always been the type of girl who kept on the safe side. As a little girl, I would not climb on trees or walls, because maybe I would fall, and if I fell I may break my head. I would not try and meet new kids at the preschool, because maybe they would be mean to me and destroy my drawings. As I grew up, not much had changed. I had decided to be a teacher, mainly because it had seemed like such a stable, predictable career to follow, with a permanent full-time employment, and vacation on the same days every year. I chose my boyfriends considering a list of pre-requisites; having a clean background, and having a clear life plan being among them.

Any of my ex would have had a heart attack by seeing me kiss Otis, I thought, giggling to myself.

Gosh, I used to be _sooo_ boring. Maybe that's why I enjoyed horror movies so much. They took me to a dark side that I hadn't began to experience in real life. They gave me a little taste for all that was wrong, not allowed, dangerous, exciting. Of course, I never expected to ever act onto those things. And now, there I was, watching the sunshine as I sat on the porch of the so-called House of 1000 Corpses. That thought made me giggle again.

"What are you laughing at?" came a voice from behind me.


	8. My New Sister

**Chapter 8 – My New Sister**

"What is so funny?"

Instinctively, I jumped to my feet and turned around, as if I had heard the vicious hiss of a snake behind my back. "Hi" I greeted dryly. "Nothing. Just thinking of old facts."

"You mean, like remembering something that happened a very long time ago, years or decades, and laughing your ass off like it just happened?

"Well, something like that." I tried to sound neutral, but stood rigid, hands clasped defensively.

"You know?" Baby giggled, making little holes on the dirt with her shoes. "It always makes me laugh when I remember something that I did to this one guy, a few years ago. I was walking down the road, going to see daddy, when this truck stopped. Then this bald, ugly guy started calling me in, saying "Hey honey, what about a blowjob?"

Here she comes with too much information, I thought.

"I walked to the truck, bent over the passenger's window, and said 'Sure, good-looking. Open up.' The guy was surprised, but he opened the door, and I jumped in. 'Show me what you have in there', I told him."

"Baby, you don't have to go into details" I assured her, with an unease smile.

"No, let me continue!" She was clearly amused by telling that story to someone new. "We didn't talk much, of course. I started doing what I do best with my mouth, if you know what I mean," she giggled proudly "and when he was least expecting, I drew my knife and WHACK! I cut it off!" She laughed loudly, looking at me and expecting me to laugh as well. "And then, do you know what I did with it afterwards? I put it-"

"That's enough!" I quickly interrupted her, trying to block the awful mental slide of images. "Maybe it will be more fun if I imagine the rest myself, don't you think? But, great story, really, really funny!" I forced a laugh. Good thing that she tells her stories in a fast, straight-to-the-point way, I thought. I wouldn't want to hear a long-winded version of that one, full of nasty details.

"Okay!" she agreed, laughing some more. "Hey, I'm walking a few blocks from here to get us some food; you wanna come?"

I stared at her for a moment, surprised. "Yeah, sure!" I was embarrassed to bring up a concern, and I didn't know how to word it. The fact was, I wasn't sure of my _status_ in that house. Was I a prisoner? A guest? Something in-between? Could I just walk away if I chose to? "Ah... do you think it would really be okay if I go?"

"Of course!" she guaranteed me. "Why wouldn't it be?" Then waving her arms towards the stable, she yelled "Come on, let's go!"

Rufus dropped a bucket that fell heavily on the ground, wiping his hands on his shirt and starting to follow us. Great, I thought with inner sarcasm, that's all I needed. I'm going out for a walk with Miss Living-Dead Girl and Mister Seven-Feet Killer. Awesome.

"So... Do you know what's going on about me?"

"Kind of" she said, playfully kicking the gravel along the way. "Rufus told us that Otis was cool with you, that you were going to be his guest. What is the deal?"

I briefly explained the situation to her, maintaining the same version of facts that Otis knew: I was an amateur artist looking for inspiration in her one-of-a-kind brother, but instead of simply knocking at the door and requesting some art classes, I started on the wrong track – lying – and had paid the price.

I kept the story as short as possible. The least I spoke, the least I would be caught in my own lies.

"Sorry about calling you a cop" she apologized. "That was pretty fucked up, wasn't it?"

"Which part – being called a cop, or being almost killed?" We both laughed at the joke. "No, that's okay" I assured her. "I survived."

"No, it's not okay. Let me make it up for you. We could become sisters!"

"Oh." That's how Baby was – saying unexpected things at any given moment. "But wouldn't we need to _be born_ as sisters?"

"Of course not! Otis and I don't have the same blood, we didn't even grow up together, and he is my favorite brother in the whole world!"

I chuckled. "Aren't you gonna offend the big guy out there?" and turned my neck to peek at Rufus, walking behind us.

"Nah, he knows I love him too!" Baby blew a kiss to Rufus.

"Well, I suppose I can be your sister."

"Yay!" she yelled, jumping on me and hugging me. "I have a sister now!"

I couldn't help but smile at her enthusiasm. It was a weird family, that one.

We did a lot of small talk on the way – although, doing small talk with Baby meant discussing a bunch of strange things – and we reached the diner, a simple place located along the highway. I was expecting the crazy siblings to make havoc, rob the place, kill everyone inside or something along those lines. I was astonished to see Baby bend over the counter and order food in a civilized manner... She even paid for it!

"That's to take out, honey" she asked the cashier, and joined us as we waited.

"How come you are being so well-behaved?" I whispered to her. "No shootings, kidnappings, putting the place on fire? Just ordering food to go?"

That made Baby laugh hard. To my amazement, I've even heard a small chuckle coming from Rufus. I looked up at him and saw a smile, which he promptly made disappear, going back to his everyday neutral expression.

"We live here, dummy!" she lightly elbowed me.

"That's right" I pondered, aloud. "It only makes sense that you wouldn't do anything to raise suspicion, or to get yourself arrest-"

"Uhmmm, look at that!" she interrupted me, grabbing my arm. I followed her stare, seeing two young guys having a meal in. "Fresh meat in town."

Before I realized what was happening, I let Baby pull me along with her, stopping in front of the guys' booth. "Hey!" she greeted them vivaciously, bringing her hands to her hips and slightly swaying. "Would you boys mind if my sister and I join you?"

As I looked at her with my eyes wide in surprise, he guys promptly made room for us to sit. "But of course not!" one of them said, a big grin on his face. "Please, ladies. Can we get anything for you?"

"A soda for me, please" she asked.

"Nothing for me, thanks."

As the waitress quickly brought Baby a glass of lemon soda with ice, she began suggestively to suck the straw, looking at the bewildered guys with mischief in her eyes. The boys were practically drooling. I moved in my sit awkwardly.

"You two are not from here, right?" she stated matter-of-factly, flashing her perfect teeth for them.

"No, we are traveling" the second guy said. "We just stopped by to eat something."

"And did you find anything good to eat yet?" she asked meaningfully, taking another sip from the straw.

The guys chuckled, at a loss of what to say. "Well, this diner has the most appetizing stuff," one of them gave her "I suppose we are lucky for having stopped by."

"You certainly are" she teased. "You know, my sister here and I like you guys. Dontcha, sis?"

I forced myself to smile. "Yeah, sure."

"And we would love for you to come on over to our place" she stated, flashing her best grin, rolling a lock of hair on her finger. "If you are not in a hurry to go on on your little trip, maybe we could have a good time together, just the four of us."

The astonished boys exchanged a look, obviously excited with the offer. "We still have some errands to run in town, but if you ladies are going to be home afterwards, we'd love to join you."

"Good!" taking one of the napkins and borrowing a pen, she proceeded to write her address, giving it to them. "We'll be waiting for you" she blinked an eye and rose.

I followed her out of the diner, where Rufus was patiently waiting. "Let's go home. Wasn't that fun, sister?" she giggled.

"Yes. That was a lot of fun." Except for those poor bastards, if they make the mistake to come, I thought to myself.


	9. Dinner Time

**Chapter 9 – Dinner Time**

"Hi mama!" Baby greeted, depositing the large bag with food on the kitchen counter.

So this is the infamous Kitchen of Hell, I thought, looking around. Remembering scenes from both movies, I recalled something about boiling body parts and severed heads stuffed in the refrigerator. Good thing that we had bought takeout food!

"Hello, my Angel! Hi, Laura." She had an apron covering her girlish, pink dress, that did very little to conceal her large breasts. She was mixing some batter by hand – baking a cake, perhaps? – and looking pretty much contented.

"Hi, Mother Firefly" I greeted her.

"Just call me mama" she told me with a wink.

"Laura and I are sisters now!" Baby announced, delighted.

"Oh, that is so great, honey!" She looked in my direction. "When Baby was a child, she always asked me for a little sister. She had two older brothers, Rufus and Tiny, but she missed another girl to play with. But I guess, it was not meant to happen. After having Baby, I got pregnant twice; two miscarriages."

"I am so sorry to hear that!" I lied. As it was, the world had enough Fireflys in it, I thought, still resented at her for the past night's events.

"Thank you, honey. It was so really sad. But I still have them both" she added cheerfully. "My two pretty baby boys, preserved in a glass with formalin. Oh, they are so beautiful, I'll show you my babies later."

Holy shit, I thought. Rob Zombie had really seen into this family's past, hadn't he? Every little detail from his movies was being confirmed.

"I am sure that they are very beautiful, mama, considering your other kids that are _alive_" I awkwardly attempted a compliment.

"Yes, they are all gorgeous, especially my angel here" she looked at Baby adoringly. "Doesn't she look like an angel?"

"She does!" I agreed, as mother and daughter exchanged smiles and blew kisses at each other.

Geez, I thought. For a psycho family, they are so loving to each other; so affectionate. Go figure.

"Why did you have those miscarriages, anyway?" I wanted to know. Her three children were strong and healthy – take a look at Rufus! – so two fetuses dying was something that didn't make sense.

"Doctor said my uterus had been permanently damaged" she explained very naturally. "Sex was too rough; I probably went a bit over the top, then one day the damage was done. After that, I could never have kids again."

"Oh." What was there to say? "Again, I am sorry."

She glanced me a motherly smile, as she poured the batter into a FORMA and placed it inside the oven. "Are you kids hungry yet? She asked us. "We could have an early dinner, before all that food goes cold."

"Sure, I'm gonna call the boys" Baby offered, disappearing into the house.

"Let me help you set the table" I volunteered.

"Thank you, my sweet. The plates are over there, the forks are in this drawer..." she went on instructing me.

I was a little bit tense – again, that was the kitchen of hell. I was praying not to find anything gruesome as I looked for the dinner set, and thankfully I did not.

"Oh honey, would you do me a favor and get the parmesan cheese in the fridge?" she asked.

Hell no! I wanted to scream. "You will forgive me, mama, but I feel like I'm catching a cold. After walking in that hot sun, I don't want to be exposed to the cold."

"No problem, dear. So anyway – as I was saying, Baby always wanted a sister _so_ bad. I am glad that she's got you now."

I smiled. She's being a much better host today, I thought, still thinking of the previous night with mama's 'you are not part of the family, you cannot dine with us' treatment. "And I am glad for having her," I said "and such a loving mama like yourself, and the boys. It is too bad that it's just temporary, but I'm gonna make the most out of my time here."

"We'll make sure you do!" she guaranteed me with a smile.

Eventually we were all gathered around the dinner table – all except for Otis – passing the mashed potatoes around, serving each other cheap red wine and talking. I hadn't realized how hungry I was, not having eaten for over 24 hours. I sat between Tiny and Rufus, facing Baby and mama, being updated on the events of the day. It was normal reports that could have come from any family - as how Rufus fixed something in the stable (_finally_ I got to hear his voice, although briefly), how Baby had seen something interesting on TV, and how mama was thinking of trying a new haircut.

Of course, there was non-routine talk as well, stuff that one could only expect to hear at the Fireflys' dinner table. Such as Baby bragging about the two guys that we had met at the diner, who would probably arrive at any time and become her next victims. Or mama being upset at Tiny, because he forgot to bury the ever growing pile of shoes and clothes – that once belonged to their victims – laying outside the house. Or Rufus mentioning that one of the hostages was giving him trouble by screaming too much, and he had cut her tongue out; but as she continued making annoying loud squeaks, he just broke her neck.

All family stuff.

I was surprised at how at ease, how _at home_ I felt. Am I growing used to this madness, _already_? I wondered, concerned about my own reactions. Am I getting desensitized? Is this just a normal psychological reaction that happens when people face very unusual circumstances? Why am I feeling so light?

I finally blamed it on the wine.

As I kept drinking and observing that crazy family, strange thoughts occurred to me. I had been born in a good family, raised with a religion, been given everything that I needed in my whole life – love, food, education, friends, you name it. Being good was just the natural thing to do; I had my morals and beliefs, I followed them, and it was all great.

But had I been a good person because that was my essence, or just because it was the easy way to go?

It's not like I've ever had much of a chance to go in the other direction, I realized, watching Baby throw some rice on Rufus' forehead and making everyone laugh. Had I been lured with temptation, with opportunity, having different people around me, would I have chosen to follow a darker side? If I had known that I could murder someone and never get caught; or robbed a bank and get some good money; or do any crazy shit and get away with it... would I have done it?

The perspective really scared me, because I didn't have an honest answer for it. Maybe a few more days in that house, and I would find out.

I was being accepted by the Fireflys, too quickly to allow me time to breathe. What if I eventually become part of them, another family member? I pondered, and realized that it was very possible. What if, by spending too much time with them, I abandon everything that I believe in, and start thinking and feeling more like them? What if they train me to kill, torture, commit all sorts of crimes and I enjoy it? What if I decide never to return to my real family in 2005?

That was a possibility, too. We could all move to another state, somewhere where Sheriff Wydell would never think of looking, and start brand new. A big, insane, eccentric happy family.

Yes, that wine was definitely doing strange things to me.

I didn't fail to remember, though, that I'd better have a serious talk with them, soon. About the police raiding their house and killing them. I have time, I considered, but I better do this sooner than later. Let them warm up to me more, first.

I would have to be very tactful in how to convey the message. I couldn't just call in for a family meeting, and say "Hello everybody, I have a little secret to reveal: I come from the future, from a time machine, and I am here to avoid the death of you all. Your lives are shown in a couple of movies on the next century, you are all played by actors – I'm very familiar with the story – but don't worry! As long as we alter the events, you will be okay!"

That would send me straight to the basement again. Or worse. I'll worry about this later, I told myself.

When dinner was over, each one went his own way. I helped taking away the dishes; Tiny washed them.

Having free time on my hands, I grabbed my backpack (that was still in the place where I had left it) and headed upstairs, to Otis room.


	10. Otis’ Room

**Chapter 10 – Otis' Room**

I lightly knocked on the door; not hearing a response, I opened it just enough to peek inside. The bedroom seemed empty. "Otis?" No answer. I slowly entered; a thrilling sensation growing in the pit of my stomach. Just being in Otis' territory was enough to give me the butterflies.

As I was not being observed, I took my time, enjoying the pleasure of being there. I looked around the room, paying attention to the smallest details – although, honestly, that much clutter could have filled several hours of someone's attention.

A normal person would only have seen a very dirty, messy, out-of-control room, and probably leave disgusted and / or claustrophobic. (Not to mention being traumatized for life, after noticing the most unsettling components such as bloody tools or body parts.) I, on the other hand, saw the room of an artist, a rebel – one that I liked very much, Lord knows why – and I was fascinated by it.

The walls were stacked with paintings and drawings, all sinister and many indistinguishable. The predominant colors of the pieces were red, grey and black; they were painted in cheap paper and carelessly displayed, just hanging from the wall by a pin or a piece of scotch tape. The parts of the wall not covered by paper were not exactly empty; somebody had written directly on the wall, mostly nonsense phrases such as "The-Boogie-Man-Is-Real" and "Inheritance-For-Satan".

The floor was not in a better state; there was stuff everywhere. Apparently Otis didn't believe in doing laundry, I concluded, seeing his unwashed clothes rolled up in balls and laying around on the floor. Scattered around the room, both on the floor and over the simple furniture, there were also crumpled pieces of paper, dirty empty glasses and plates, painting tools, ropes, torn pieces of fabric, a few knives with dirty blades (probably blood). The bed was unmade, sheets and comforter half falling to the floor. A large lock of hair, cut unevenly, lay on the only chair. There was also an adjacent room, still unexplored.

I stood in front of a handmade wooden shelve (now I know, Rufus was the one making most of the furniture) with lots of second-hand books. Going through the titles, I was impressed: Nietzsche, Machiavelli, Jean-Paul Sartre, Dostoyevsky. One in particular made me giggle: Mark Twain. I had forgotten one important truth about Otis: he just _looked_ illiterate.

His desk was also made out of wood, simply crafted, and accompanied by a chair. Besides the lock of hair already mentioned, there was paperwork and clutter all over. One thing caught my attention: several thick notebooks, apparently with stuff attached between its pages. I promised myself not to touch anything, but I couldn't contain my curiosity: I had to peek at a notebook that was left open. Its two pages were fully written on, but the masculine hushed handwriting was incomprehensible to me. Giving it up, I continued on my innocent exploration of Otis' room.

It was when I found it: crumpled and abandoned in a corner of the floor, the familiar "Burn This Flag" shirt – the one and only that had been duplicated in _House_. I abandoned my resolution of not touching anything: I crouched down and, carefully as if I was handling an object of inestimable value, I fetched it. Holding it by the collar and allowing it to fall open, I ran my eyes through it, happy as an eight year-old that had just found a treasure buried in his backyard. The shirt had obviously not been washed in a long time; I could tell it by the droplets of blood splattered here and there, the old yellowish sweat stains, some minor paint spots, and also the fact that it was wrinkled and dirty.

Anyone else would have had the strong desire to burn that filthy piece of fabric; at the very least, throw it against the wall and wipe her hands in disgust. But certainly not me. I stood up, carefully folding the old shirt in my hands; then I brought it close to my face, sniffing it.

Ooh, it smelled like Otis. The same smell that I remembered from hours before, when he kissed me. It was not a bad, stinky smell; it was rather manly and highly appealing. Closing my eyes, I brought the shirt closer to my face, pleasurably touching it with my nose, smelling it, rubbing my cheek against it - basically acting like a purring cat asking to be petted.

A hand touched my waist, causing me to gasp aloud and turn around in a little jump.

"What are you doing with my shirt?" Otis asked, staring from me to the shirt and back, a small but obviously amused smile on his face.

"Gosh, you scared me!" I exclaimed, stating the obvious, drawing a shaky hand to my heart. Busted! I thought, probably blushing beet-red of embarrassment. "I didn't hear you approaching."

"Obviously!" he smiled. "That's what I do – I prey on them, sneak from behind like a snake, and slice their throats before they even know I'm there."

That idea gave me the shivers. "Glad to know I'm not _them_!" I frowned. "By the way, sorry for being in your room when you weren't here; I was looking for you, but when I didn't find you I just couldn't resist taking a look around. Your room is definitely... very personal."

"I hope that's a compliment" he said. "No worries, I have nothing to hide here – well, at least not much that you haven't seen yet."

Walking around him, still holding the shirt – I was growing uncomfortable standing between him and the wall – I asked: "How come you didn't come downstairs for dinner?"

Otis shuddered. "Not hungry."

"You should eat at least a little bit, even if you're not feeling hungry. Too many hours on an empty stomach is bad for you."

"What is that now," he laughed, looking at me in a strange way "are you fucking mothering me?"

"Never mind" I replied, already regretting my impulsive comment. I tend to be caring and protective towards the people I care about, but I had to keep in mind that that was Otis Driftwood – he probably wasn't accustomed to people worrying about him, and he wouldn't understand such a thing. "I was just being thoughtful."

He studied me for a few moments, his brows drawn together. "Why are you holding my shirt?" he repeated.

I couldn't honestly answer that – it would have been too humiliating! – but I didn't want to lie, either. I simply smiled and looked at him hopefully. "Can I have it?"

"If you want to borrow a shirt, I can give you a cleaner one" he offered.

"No, what I mean is, I'd like to keep it to myself. As a gift. I just love the..." which excuse could I give him? "... the uncommon illustration, you know?"

Otis laughed, not buying into it. "An American flag? _Uncommon?_"

"With the quote below it, yes, plus it has all this paint splashed over it... It has a lot of personality. Oh, never mind, how rude of me to get in your room and start asking for things-"

"Keep it if you want to," he interrupted, casting me that strange look again. I guess I was weirding him out, or at least intriguing him. "I don't care."

I smiled brightly. "Thank you!" Going to where my backpack was, I crouched over it, folding the shirt again and putting it inside the front pocket. "I brought something for you" I announced, dropping most of my backpack contents on the floor. It was artsy material: brushes, pencils, diluent, and a variety of tubes of acrylic paint, of many different colors. "I was hoping that we could use these in our classes" I told him. "I have a bunch more at home, so when I leave, they're yours to keep."

Otis' eyes went bright, taking the set from my hands. "So fucking great!" he exclaimed, opening one of the paint tubes, squeezing a sample of his finger, rubbing it and smelling it. "Very good quality. We can do some fucking damage with it!"

I smiled at his enthusiasm. I had figured, they probably didn't have _The Artist Store_ in Ruggsville – and even if they did, Otis wouldn't be able to afford it, unless he used questionable means - so I made sure to stop there before my trip.

"Only one problem: too many doo-dee-doo faggoty-ass colors" he criticized. "Who needs all this shit?"

"We do, of course!" I stated. "I like using a colorful palette."

"But these are too... _happy_" he frowned.

Okay, Miss I-Wanna-Be-A-Killer-Too, find a good reply to that! I thought. "Not happy... necessarily. If you have the right technique," I bullshitted "you can use a varied set of colors to inspire sadness, anxiety, madness... pretty much any emotion you want. It can be so much more poignant, and full of possibilities, than just a black and red."

He looked at me, impressed. "Can you do that?"

"Certainly!" I assured him, not convinced at all myself. I have to watch out for the bullshit I invent, I kicked myself.

"Well honey, then show me your art that I'll show you mine" he asked in a subtle, meaningful tone.

Slightly nervous at whatever that implied, I said "Okay, we can work on it whenever you want." He'll probably say tomorrow, I pondered, since it's getting kind of late already.

"What about now?" Otis suggested, walking to the adjacent room. I followed him, guessing that saying 'no' wasn't an option.

The main obstacle was... I can't paint or draw if my life depended on it. Literally. With some effort, I can draw stick people, but even for stick-people standards my work is pretty bad. Thank God for Abstraction!

Curious, I deposited the paint set on the lateral bench and looked around the new room. It was slightly smaller than the main bedroom, but the "madness level" was higher. The walls were even more crowded with demented paintings, some overlapping the others. An old can of paint had been filled with dark red paint (which later I found out to be blood, to my utter disgust). The only other paints in sight were cans of black, grey and dark green colors, which looked homemade. Blood and paint were splattered everywhere, as if psychotic kindergarten kids had just stormed out of the room after a productive, messy art class. A big wooden easel was placed the middle of the room. A set of knifes, of different sizes and shapes, lay handy at the wooden bench. Alongside, there were other disturbing tools, such as a chainsaw, a big pair of scissors, a machete, a hammer, small and large nails, and other tools I was unfamiliar with. A severed arm had been forgotten amidst them, but that didn't surprise me. A 5-gallon glass of formalin sat at the end of the bench. Jars and containers of different sizes were piled up in a paper box.

"This is my art studio" Otis announced proudly. "I spend many hours working here everyday."

"Cozy" I shot, not knowing what to say. "In an artistic-like way, I mean. And very creative."

"Thanks!" Otis grinned. He walked to the wall and pointed at a painting. I couldn't tell what it was. "How do you like this one?"

Shit, I thought. I should have taken some art classes at the junior college. Stupid ignorance! "Ah..." I urged my brain to work fast. "I like it. A lot. It is very... dark, and... it stands on its own."

"Do you know what it is?"

I swallowed. "No. But it's that, uh, openness to interpretation that helps making it so unique."

"It's the inside of somebody's intestines" Otis candidly explained. "I actually gutted a guy and did some research work on him, so I could paint his intestine walls perfectly. I used some of the liquid to cover coat the final work." His smile showed pride, and a clear expectancy of praise.

Oh God, I thought, can _anybody_ get nastier than that? Fighting crescent nausea, but desperately trying to conceal it, I blabbered: "Oh wow. That's the work of an artist really committed to his work! How didn't I see it? Well, maybe it's because I haven't yet actually seen somebody's intestines..." I shut up before I said any more nonsense.

"What about this one?" Otis pointed at another painting pinned to the wall.

I tried to make sense out of it, but again, it was unclear. "It's a rat?"

He smiled. "Almost. Look again."

"A rat taking a nap?" I guessed.

"No. It's a small mouse inside a cat's belly. He had been swallowed whole a few minutes ago, and he's suffocating. At the same time, hydrochloric acid from the cat's guts is washing over him. He desperately wants to get out, but that's the end of the road, and he knows it – he's facing a soon, horrible death."

The more time I spent with that man, the creepier he seemed. "Fascinating! You have a colorful imagination, Otis."

"Thank you."

Otis seemed so glad for showing me those things. I didn't understand it at that time, but later I realized the reason: he was very lonely. Sure, I bet he showed his art to every other of his victims, but I highly doubt that any of them ever showed him genuine interest. Not that _my_ interest was genuine; his work creeped me out. But at least I faked interest, made questions, and so far he was buying into it.


	11. The Real Fun Begins

**WARNING! This chapter contains strong language and sexual scenes. (Not that the others didn't, a little...) Stay away if you might be offended.**

oooooooooooo

**Chapter 11 – The Real Fun Begins**

Otis placed a new sheet of paper on the easel. "Show me what you can do."

I opened my eyes wide. "Right." I took a deep breath, then began gathering several of the paint tubes. Not sure how to proceed, I picked the navy blue one, turned the tube upside-down and squeezed some paint out of it, collecting it with one of the new brushes. I stood there, looking at the cheap piece of paper in front of me. "Otis, you don't use canvas?"

"Nah, fucking expensive pieces of fabric. Who needs them?" he shrugged. "What about you – you don't use a palette?"

"But of course I do!" I improvised, quickly locating a dirty palette on the floor and fetching it. In the process, the amount of paint hanging in the brush fell. "I like to make a visual inspection of the paint before I use it, especially if it is new. Call it quality control." Heck, I am getting good at bullshitting! I congratulated myself.

"You're too fucking nitty-picky" he criticized. "I make my own paint with whatever I have; plants, vegetables, human material. There ain't such a thing as quality control."

I took my self-congratulation back. "You're probably right; I can be a little exaggerated at times."

Getting back at work, I mixed some blue and yellow paint on the palette, beginning to paint my _obra-prima_. I was forming random shapes on paper, trying to make it as interesting as stupid random shapes can get. My hands were shaking a little – I was too conscious of Otis attentively observing me. I usually have trouble working under pressure, or with somebody peeking over my shoulder. If that someone just happens to be a psychotic murderer, and the pressure involves me pretending to be something I am not, just so I can get out of the situation alive, it's no wonder that I was so freaking nervous.

Stupidly trying to make an especial effect – I was desperate to impress, since my painting sucked so far – I squeezed some red paint directly on the brush, then using my fingers I pulled the brush's hair downwards, releasing it soon after, spattering the ink on paper and producing ugly red spots on top of my already ugly work. Looking at my tinted fingers, I clumsily cleaned them on my pants, smiling as if I had it all under perfect control.

Will Otis notice that I am not an artist – not even an amateur one? I wondered, growing more and more concerned with my ability to act. I was shaking more visibly by the minute, constantly aware of his fixed stare raising the hair on my neck.

All of my muscles became rigid as I sensed Otis approaching, slowly and deliberately, standing just one step behind me. One freaking breath away. I kept on painting, trying to act natural, but my heart was already hammering on my chest. As I felt his hand touching my hair, gently pulling it all behind my shoulder, I involuntarily jumped.

"Relax, I don't bite" he spoke softly. After hesitating for a couple of seconds, he added with a soft chuckle: "Actually, I _do_ bite. But I won't." He kept smoothing my hair with his fingers. "Not right now."

The multiple ideas instilled by those short comments, added to Otis' touch, made my pulse accelerate to maddening levels. My hand was growing weak, and I was having increased difficulty in holding the brush firmly. Not to mention breathing.

"You seem awfully nervous" he stated, faking concern. "What's the matter?"

The bastard _knew_ what the matter was. Or at least half of it – he wasn't stupid and he wasn't born the day before. He knew that I was so damn attracted to him, and he was teasing me. But I wouldn't admit it. Still painting, my back turned to him, I said: "It's just... I'm probably not very good at this. You must know a whole lot about art, when I'm just starting to study it. You probably think my painting sucks, and you're wondering why you're even wasting your time with me."

Otis chuckled. "Self-conscious, huh?"

So I was, in different ways. He got that right.

"Believe me, I don't feel at all that being with you is a waste of time." He placed a hand on my shoulder, slowly running it down my arm, up to the level of my elbow, then up again. It was a slow, titillating massage.

I was having trouble to breathe normally by now, feeling that I might faint. And I just couldn't find my voice to reply to his comment.

"So tell me what you are painting there" he bent over my shoulder, almost rubbing his beard on me, pretending to be interested in my disastrous painting. "What does it mean?"

"I-" I gasped for air as I felt his other hand casually resting on my waist, his body coming even closer to mine. "This- this is a, uh, representation of a mental state," I was having difficulty in articulating the words "and, uh, it means that the person-"

A soft moan escaped from my lips as Otis gently threw my hair forward, leaving my back exposed. What was I saying? I tried to concentrate. "Well, the painting is trying to convey that, uh, some sort of anxiety for-"

I didn't know what I was saying anymore, as I felt his knuckles gently touching the base of my neck and running them down my back, then in circles, wherever there was naked skin. Which wasn't much; my shirt was conservative enough. Still, it gave me pleasant shivers anywhere he touched.

I could feel his warm breath on my shoulder now, and I was quickly and surely losing self-control. "...uh, clear mental picture of-" I felt his breath slowly moving from my shoulder to my back, without touching, until he reached the spot just below the base of my neck. Then, unexpectedly, I felt the tip of his tongue making a wet, small trail in there, licking my skin. "... trying – oh God!" I exclaimed aloud, almost in a scream, moving forward panicky and knocking the easel down, making a loud _bang_.

Laboring to breathe and no longer trying to hide it, my face hot as if all my blood had decided to go there, I glanced quickly at an evil-smiling Otis and said: "I think we should continue this tomorrow – I mean the painting!" and practically ran past him.

Or so I tried. He grabbed my arm and, with a strong jerk, pulled me towards his chest where I landed. Grabbing me by both arms and keeping my face dangerously close to his, he spoke in a hoarse voice: "Don't run on me again." His breathing was also faster than usual.

I never found out if it had been a request or an order; I didn't challenge him to find out. I just kept staring at his eyes, unwilling to fight, breathing through my mouth, waiting for what was going to happen.

And then, in a matter of seconds, I forgot why I wanted to resist in the first place.

Possessively, Otis held the back of my head and lowered his face to mine, taking my mouth in a savage kiss. All the air came out of my lungs in a gasp, and I think I forgot to breathe for a few moments. My knees instantly weakened as I felt the wetness and warmth of his tongue invading my senses, and I hung to the back of his neck for support. I didn't think it would be possible, but this kiss was even better than the first one; probably because, this time, he was hungry too.

Let me tell you – Otis knew how to take a girl's breath away. No chocking required - his touch or kiss was more than enough.

Otis broke the kiss and I whimpered in protest; but soon enough his mouth was exploring the sensitive skin of my throat – not in a soft trail of kisses, but hungrily, in an almost predatory manner. I gasped out loud, feeling my whole body melt like hot butter, as his lips and tongue teased me, and his beard scratched my already-too-sensitive skin.

That was my version of paradise. Just for that, my entire trip – with its ups and downs – had already been worth it.

And just like that, Otis stopped.

Thankfully his hands had moved back to my arms, holding me. I slowly opened my eyes, fighting dizziness, as if I had jumped out of a too fast merry-go-round. Blinking, I stared at him, as if asking why he stopped.

"You are liking this, aren't you?" he asked, but it was more like a statement. Teasingly, he slowly ran his thumb along the line of my jaw.

"Very much" I confessed, blushing. That pause was agonizing - I wanted more.

"You want me to stop?" he took a step away from me, a wicked smile on his face.

Now I know that he wanted to test me and provoke me, but at that time, the perspective of him stopping made me panic. "No! Please don't stop." I grabbed him by his shirt, stepping near him again, looking at him with begging eyes.

"So tell me: what is it that you want?"

I stared at him, a little annoyed. "Uh?" What stupid question was that?

"If you don't tell me what you want, I don't have a fucking crystal ball to guess" he teased, raising his brows in a challenging manner.

Now was embarrassed, and without patience. Why didn't he just shut up and continue? "I want you to kiss me" I admitted.

"Very well." He planted a small, insignificant kiss on my lips.

"No!" I protested vehemently. "You know what I want!"

"Then say it!" he instigated, running his fingers on the back of my neck with one hand, and applying pressure against my lower back with the other, drawing me closer to him. He was driving me crazy.

I forced myself to say: "I want you to, ah, show me what you can do best with a girl." Saying that made me blush vividly (I know it because I felt my face burning).

Otis chuckled, apparently very amused. "Are you asking me to _kill_ you?"

I blushed even harder, now angry and feeling ridiculed. "You are just making fun of me" I accused him, trying to get away from his hold. "Let go off me."

That only made him smile. Moving his both hands to my upper back, he pressed me tightly against his body, holding me there. "Uhm, so sensitive. I like that."

I fought to get away, to get some distance and breathe; that would allow me to recover from those wild, strong, contradictory feelings and sensations. But Otis had other plans for me. Taking my mouth in another of his mind-blowing kisses, my anger and weak rebellion quickly melted away. In a matter of seconds, he had me wrapped around his finger, completely under his spell.

Raising his head, he asked once again, in a teasing voice: "Are you gonna tell me now, what you want from me?"

At that moment, I would have told him anything, to get what I needed. "I want you to fuck me."

He sent me an unpleased look. "I don't think I've heard it right; say it louder."

"I said: I want you to fuck me!" I said loud, hoping that nobody could hear us.

Otis smiled wickedly. "That's a good start. Take off your clothes."

He wasn't making it easy for me. I stared at him silently, not accustomed in being treated that way. Had it been anyone else, I would have walked away immediately, but Otis...

"Take off your clothes" he repeated with some impatience.

Blushing with embarrassment, I did. Small price to pay for the fun I'll have soon, I told myself. With no further delay, I kicked my shoes away along with my socks; I took my shirt off and dropped it on the floor; then opened my jeans and stepped out of them, shoving it away with my feet. I stood proudly, facing him on my underwear, trying to look confident – which I wasn't at all.

"Good" he whispered hoarsely, backing me against the bench. "Now tell me, 'I wanna be your fucking whore'."

Geez, what a jerk! I thought, getting indignant again, but unable to avoid the pleasant aching in the pit of my stomach. "I am not saying-"

He placed a hand over my mouth, interrupting me. "Say it" he ordered firmly.

I took a deep breath. "I wanna be your fucking whore." I said it aloud and clear, to avoid having to repeat it.

"That's my girl." Reaching to my bra, he removed it in two seconds (those were experienced hands!) and my panties were torn into pieces before I knew it. Still completely dressed, he stood back, gazing approvingly at my body, which only made me feel even more vulnerable.

Suddenly, his hands and mouth were everywhere, completely overwhelming me. My knees buckled beneath me, and my awareness of my surroundings vanished. Lost somewhere on Cloud Nine, I never saw Otis getting undressed; I just felt his arm reaching past me and heard the crashing of metal against metal (him shoving the knives away, making space). Next thing I know, he lifted my body and sat me on top of the bench, pulling my legs apart and standing between them, pulling me closer to himself.

"Can you say that once again?" he asked, in no more than a whisper now.

Say what? Which planet am I in? I wondered, lost, being swept away by multiple sensations. Then I remembered. Somehow finding my voice, I said "I want to be your fucking whore."

In one swift motion, he thrust inside me all the way. "Granted."

oooooooooooo

oooooooooooo

A while later, when I finally got up from the bench, I weakly leaned against it for support. I gave myself a few seconds, my eyes still closed, trying to regain my balance and come back to earth. I was finally able to open my eyes and focus on the handsome man in front of me, staring at his strong, lean body. His naked chest was heaving, sweaty, as he watched me, too. He was a hell of a sight.

I weakly smiled at him. "Otis, that was the most _amazing_, ever-"

He interrupted me. "_Was?_ Honey, I was just getting you started. I didn't want to scare you right off, so I took it easy on you." Then he added with a wicked smile: "Now is when the fun starts."

I grinned, delighted, stepping ahead and wrapping my arms around him.


	12. The Day After

**Chapter 12 – The Day After**

The next morning, even before I opened my eyes, I smiled.

I was lying naked on Otis' bed, having him close beside me; his arm was resting around my belly, and we were sharing the same pillow. He was still asleep.

I glanced at my wristwatch: almost noon! Which was little wonder; we had only gotten around to sleeping not long before the sun appeared in the horizon.

Moving sideways and supporting myself on my elbow, gently not to awake Otis, I lost myself in the pleasure of watching him. I just couldn't believe it. I had had the most amazing night of my entire life, with no one less than Otis Driftwood, from whom anybody with a hint of sanity would run, screaming and scared for her life. But there I was, watching him sleep peacefully.

I softly touched his beard, curious to feel it. I wanted to run my fingers on his face, touch him, but that would awake him. So I gently played with his hair, removing a thin lock that had fell on his face, feeling how light and smooth it was, then running my fingers over its length.

Next thing I know, Otis was staring at me, wide awake. "Hey, you were pretending to be asleep!" I playfully pushed his shoulder, then finally acted upon my urge of touching his face. "Good morning!"

He looked at me a bit strangely, but finally smiled too, then jumped off the bed. "Good morning."

I imitated him, getting up full of energy. I walked to the adjacent room, gathering what was left of my clothes on the floor. I quickly got dressed and ran past him, opening the door. "See you later!"

I jumpily made my way downstairs, finding Baby and mama in the kitchen. Baby was eating an apple, while the older woman read a newspaper. "Good morning!" I joyfully greeted them, helping myself to some bread that was sitting on the table, proceeding to make a sandwich for myself.

"I thought you had died in your sleep – did you see what time it is?" Baby asked.

"Uh-huh!" I nodded, after taking a large bite on a piece of cheese.

Otis showed up soon, not saying anything or looking at anyone, opening the fridge and helping himself to a glass of milk.

Mama glanced at both of us, studying one, then the other. "Have you two been fucking?" she finally asked.

I cleared my throat. That family certainly wasn't known for their discretion.

"Mama, of course not!" Baby stated matter-of-factly, as if that had been a very stupid question. "Laura is still alive, isn't she?" She looked at me with renewed curiosity, studying me from head to toe. "No cuts, no bruises, no blood – not that I see... Nope! Definitely not been with Otis."

"That is none of your fucking business!" he finally shouted at them both, leaving the kitchen.

As I glanced innocent looks at them, mama concluded in wonder: "Yes, they fucked."

"What? Did you really, Laura?" Baby came towards me, looking me up and down as if I was a horse on sale.

Not wanting to be the one to piss them off with a similar response as Otis, I simply shrugged and admitted it with a smile.

"Oh, shit!" was her astounded response.

"Told you!" mama exclaimed.

"Forgive me," I said tentatively "but what is the big deal? Otis brings girls everyday to his room-"

"Not willing ones, sister" Baby interrupted. "That ain't happened since the day he came live in his house."

Not it was my turn to be astounded. I didn't see that one coming. "You are kidding, right? _No girlfriends?_"

"Not that I know of, no." Baby stepped closer, facing me in a threatening manner. "You break my brother's heart, I'll rip yours out with a fork, and I'll shove it down your throat." Taking another bite of her apple, she smiled and went back to her playful self.

Like I said before, they took good care of each other.

As I finished my sandwich, I asked Baby if she would land me new clothes. I hadn't taken a shower since I left home, and although that wasn't an issue in that house, it certainly was for me. Baby made me follow her to a pile of clothes lying on the ground, outside of the house, and told me to choose whatever I liked.

"This aren't your clothes, are they?" I asked, suddenly bothered. There were just _so many clothes_ – each pair, I knew, had belonged to one of their victims.

"Don't worry, they don't need them anymore!" she said casually.

Taking a deep breath, I chose a simple but girlish, flowery dress; a pair of jeans; a couple of different shirts, and the most decent underwear I could find.

Dying for a cold, refreshing shower, I headed for the downstairs bathroom and closed the door behind me. So good to have a little privacy, I thought, looking at myself in the mirror. A few moments alone, where no crazy murdered was watching me, and I could just relax. Not that I didn't love being around Otis – of course I did. But I couldn't lower my guard around him; I had to watch out for my every word, not contradicting a single lie. Ah, some peace at least.

Stripping off my clothes, I headed for the bathtub, pulling the curtains sideways. I backed away screaming in madness, horrified at the gruesome sight.

It was one of the boys that we met the day before, at the diner. He was dead, lying naked with his limbs bending in unnatural positions, covered in blood. He had been cut horribly in several places, his face a mask of pain.

I kept screaming until the door slammed open, and Baby stormed in. I shut up as she shamelessly stared at my nakedness, studying me. As I quickly wrapped a towel around myself, she commented astonished, mostly to herself: "No bruises at all!"

In seconds the whole family was cramming inside the small room, as I stood there in shock.

"What happened?" Rufus ran inside, looking ready for a fight.

"It's nothing!" Baby exclaimed, attributing little or no importance to it. "I was playing with him last night, and I forgot to take him from here."

"Baby," her mother scolded her "how many times did I tell you not to leave dead bodies around the house? I don't see a maid around here; you have to pick up after yourself!"

"Sorry mama" she apologized innocently. "It won't happen again."

Everybody started to leave, looking annoyed that it hadn't been something important.

"Rufus, would you give me a hand in here? Please?" she batted her lashes at him, as a typical small sister trying to get a favor from her older brother.

Frowning at her, but incapable of saying no to his baby sister, he bent over the tub and picked up the body, throwing it effortlessly over his shoulders. Apparently, he didn't care about getting all smeared with blood himself. "Where do you want me to put him?"

"Take the other corpse under my bed, and put this one in his place. That one is kind of rotting already" she said with a small frown. "Thanks a lot, brother!"

I witnessed the whole scene completely dumbfounded.

Baby peeked over the now empty bathtub. "Just rinse it with some hot water. This blood is not dry yet; it'll come off easily." She walked away, shutting the door behind herself.

Sitting on the cold floor, grasping my fingers at the towel that was covering me, I blankly stared at the closed door for a long time, as if expecting for somebody to turn around and come help me. But finding a dead person in the bathtub was no big deal for the Fireflys; it was daily routine as coming across a cockroach, or having to wash the dishes after dinner. Probably nobody assumed that I was in distress, and even if they had, it would only make them laugh.

Willing myself to come out of my semi-shock state, I stood up, approaching the tub and evaluating the damage. It's just blood, I told myself. You've seen much worse, like that woman being killed in Otis' bed. This should be nothing in comparison.

Throwing up a couple of times couldn't be helped; but I gathered enough courage to turn on the water and start cleaning all that mess. Eventually, the tub was good as new.

And so was I, after a long shower. Afterwards, being clean felt so good that I almost forgot about the horrible incident. Putting on the light dress that I had borrowed, and brushing my hair with my fingers, I stepped out, feeling ready to go.


	13. A Perfect Week

**Chapter 13 – A Perfect Week**

The several following days happened without major incidents – I mean, of the bad kind. They were full of good stuff, I didn't want them to end, and I remember them dearly.

Purposely, I spent time with each member of the family. Despite of everything, I felt that I should.

Of course, my rational side would throw moral issues at me, all the time. It told me that I was doing something very wrong, immoral, by hanging out with people that had very little – or none at all – good about themselves. But I didn't feel that way; I simply didn't feel like I was doing something wrong. I wasn't harming anyone.

Sure, I wasn't making any effort to stop the Fireflys to continue kidnapping people, nor helping the hostages that could still be saved. But what could I have done? If I were careless and sounded preachy, I might have ended back in the basement. That situation, I confess, bothered me a lot when I thought of it – so I tried not to think about it too much.

I had all the intention to make the best of my time there.

On those two and half days, I spent lots of time with Baby. We danced a lot, playing loud music in her old cassette player. I showed her some cool hairstyling tricks, and she showed me how to polish nails in a way that they last longer. We laughed at stupid TV commercials, and I patiently listened to many of her stories, mostly related to men. She even offered me to go down in the basement and "pick someone" to either torture or have sex with – alone or with her – but I politely declined.

One day she was bored of staying in the house, so she invited me to go shopping at a larger town forty-five minutes from Ruggsville. We hitchhiked our way there – first time I've ever done it! – and we annoyed the driver all the way, singing aloud and giggling. He found it cute at first, but I am sure he was about to throw us out in the middle of the road. Good for him that he didn't try.

We visited a couple of clothing stores (not that Baby needed any more!), a music store and a drugstore. By "shopping", Baby had actually meant _shoplifting_, and the next thing I know, she was stuffing cassette tapes, lipstick and pills inside my purse. But there was not saying no to that girl, so I played along – and shamefully confess, I had fun. Before getting another hide back home, we eat ice cream and talked a bunch of silly things, laughing all the way.

For the first time I spent some time with Tiny. I learnt that he could speak, but he didn't like doing much of that – he preferred to observe, for whatever reasons. He could usually be found by the little creek in the property, looking at the water for hours at a time; or taking care of his little garden, where he enjoyed working on; and sometimes he just sat alone in the woods, thinking.

So I'd simply join him in one of those places, and do most of the talking. He didn't seem to mind listening to my stories; I mostly told him fun episodes about my school, my family and friends. I also felt comfortable enough to confess certain concerns about my career and my future.

Tiny hadn't gone to school; and his appearance, added to his constant silence, made people assume that he was stupid, or had mental problems. I knew better than that. He understood everything that I said, and he was very sensitive in his own way. His only fault was having been born in that family, and having gone through that unfortunate accident that got him so badly burned. He was very self-conscious about his burning scars, walking around all day with a paper bag over his head, or a mask; but I assured him that he didn't look bad at all. Eventually, he felt comfortable exposing his face around me.

Sometimes I would join him outside after dinner, when we'd just sit quietly watching the stars. We also watched a couple of old horror movies on TV. In one of the few times that Tiny spoke, he told me that he was a big fan of "_The Creature of the Black Lagoon_" and "_Frankenstein_".

Mama made me some company as well. Several times I offered help in whatever tasks she was doing, and that way we had some time talking. Not that she – or anybody – did much about cleaning and organizing that house... But there were meals to be prepared, dishes to be washed and put away, and laundry mainly. Baking was one of her few hobbies – sometimes she would bake cakes that wound up in the trash, because nobody ate them, and soon there she was again, baking another one. I would join her to watch soap operas, and she'd speak about the characters as if they were real people.

Mama didn't talk much about herself, but couldn't shut up when it came to her kids. She obviously loved them and was very proud of each of them – and that included Otis, who was not even her son, but she considered him so.

When we weren't talking about soap operas or her children, mama would give me impertinent suggestions about my dressing habits ("You are such a beautiful girl, but you dress like a nun! If you'd like I can land you one of my dresses..."), criticize my lack of makeup ("Try this lipstick and this eyeliner – it'll look great on you!"), or give me crude and unwanted advice regarding Otis, which I won't repeat here for modesty's sake.

I even managed to have a conversation with Rufus, if you can imagine that. He was the one I felt the most uncomfortable around, but I thought – what the hell, I'll give it a try. So one day I approached him, as he was bent over a car's open hood (that had belonged to one of their victims, if I have to guess), fixing something. I attempted to start some small talk, but I only got back some unfriendly stares and silence.

Finally I walked beside him, peeked inside the hood, and asked: "So, what are you fixing?" Rufus interrupted his work to shoot me a deadly stare, but I insisted, trying not to show that I was intimidated: "I don't know very much about cars, but I wish I did. What if I'm driving on a deserted highway, then out of a sudden the car breaks? I obviously won't be able to fix it, and there may be some crazy killer stopping to offer help-" I just realized the stupid thing I said, and tried to correct it:

"No comparisons intended! Anyway – do you think you could teach me a little bit?"

He stood straight in all his height, resting his hands on his hips and staring at me. That was so goddamn intimidating; I immediately regretted bothering him, unconsciously taking a step back. "Come closer" he instructed. As I reluctantly did, he turned to the open hood and pointed at something. "This is the radiator. You put water in here, and it keeps the car from overheating..."

That was the beginning. I got a complete "how cars work" class, and he seemed happily surprised that I was interested. That was the most I've ever heard him talking. We never really became friends – not even close! – but after that it was easier to talk to him, even if it was a mere "Good morning" or "Want more salad?" It felt less awkward that way. I even helped him to feed the animals one day, and he let me.

Obviously, most of my days were spent with Otis. We spent countless hours over and under his dirty sheets; I know by heart every old blood stain in them. But it wasn't only sex; we also did a whole lot of painting and talking.

Most of the time, Otis would paint and I would sit by and watch, with the excuse that I wanted to "learn from the master". I had to put up with him using lots of blood – he wasn't too fond of the acrylic paints I bought for him, claiming that only blood lasts forever... whatever that means. I did a couple more of my abstract works of art, but he didn't make me many questions, which was a relief.

Otis didn't like talking when he was painting. He took his work very seriously, and felt that talking would diminish its almost sacred importance. On the other hand, brushes aside, he could be a chatterbox – especially when I got him started about the importance of art, the roles of people in society, and the meaning of life and death. He would go on and on, so enthusiastic that it was scary, and pretty much sound like a lunatic. To this day, I have no idea what he was talking about; but I have had enough Philosophy classes to be able to bullshit my way through it, and actually maintain a conversation. Once Otis said how great it was to have someone with such brilliant ideas and intelligence to talk to, about those "important things" of life; I almost choked, since all I had done was blabbering incoherent, fancy-sounding phrases.

The toughest part of it all was convincing Otis to delay our sculpture making. He had been intrigued by my digitally-modified photos, believing that I made those macabre pieces out of dead people, just as he did. He was curious to see me working into something, and he was eager to teach me his own technique. I had to invent one excuse after the other: "Today I don't feel well", "I feel like painting instead", "I never create art on Mondays", "I am horny – shall we play?", "I'm feeling claustrophobic" and so on. One day he brought me down to the basement, insisting that I chose someone to kill so we could work on. I don't remember how I eluded him, but I was extremely relieved that I did. Having someone's death – and ghastly dismemberment – in my conscience is _not_ something I would be able to handle.

Things that Otis wouldn't do: talk about himself and his past (although I touched the subject several times), make me personal questions (which was actually great) and show affection. Especially the later one. Showing affection is very much my nature, so I was all the time hugging him, kissing him, talking sweetly, wanting to cuddle... Otis would let me, but almost never returning it. He would look at me strangely, with suspicion, as if wondering what the hell I was up to. Love and affection were strange animals to Otis; aliens really. That family's love was the only one he'd ever known, and he didn't know how to handle anything outside it.


	14. I’m the One Who Loves U When UR Dead

**WARNING! This chapter contains strong sexual scenes and violence... it's pretty twisted. Jump straight to the next if you might be offended – don't worry, you won't miss on the plot.**

oooooooooo

**Chapter 14 – I'm the One Who Loves You When You're Fucking Dead**

Yes, those days were great. Except for a certain afternoon... There _had to be_ a distressing episode to spoil my nice week.

Otis and I were in his room, ready for yet another round of sex. How many times so far? I had lost count, but each time had been great. I had reached the point of feeling safe and comfortable around him... almost forgetting the cold-blooded murderer that he was.

"Come here, honey" Otis said, motioning for me to get in bed with him. My blood already racing with the idea, and smiling in anticipation, I joined him, sitting on my knees on top of the mattress. I reached my hand to touch his face, but he held it in the air in a firm grip, saying "Uh-uh! Today we are gonna play a different game" he announced, with a hint of humor on his face. "Do you trust me?"

"Of course I trust you" I assured him, without having given it much thought. I wonder if saying "no" would have made any difference.

Smiling, Otis sank his left hand on his pant's pocket, producing a handful of fine ropes, while still holding my hand. "Give me your other hand."

I looked at his expression, and I didn't see a suggestion in there, but an order. "Wha- what are you doing?"

"Give me your hand" he repeated in a condescending and impatient tone, as if speaking to a child. I complied, reluctantly, but not wishing to contradict him, and he began tying my wrists together. I looked at his face, finding it unreadable. I have to admit – although hesitant, I was excited and curious, never having done anything kinky before. What does he have in mind? I wondered.

When he was done with the knots, I tested his work, trying to pull my wrists apart. The rope was narrow and made of a soft material, which was comfortable enough, but the knot was tight and strong and I couldn't undo it.

Otis smiled at that with satisfaction. Then, without warning, he held me below my arms, lifting me slightly and threw me with violence against the headboard. A pillow cushioned the crash, but the ferocity of the gesture was unsettling. It's all right, I told myself. He is just playing a little rough.

He took another rope from his pocket and proceeded to tie my hands to the headboard, as I sat with my back against the pillow. I let him do it, a little scared but too curious, breathing hard with anticipation. He sat back for a moment, looking me up and down with a small, wicked smile. Approaching me, Otis fiercely wrapped his hand around my hair, yanking my head back. He kissed me in a way that he hadn't yet: possessively, savagely in a strange, frightening way. Something didn't feel right, but I still said nothing.

Breaking the kiss and letting go of my hair, Otis reached for his belt and, in a swift movement, displayed before my eyes a large, old, dirty hunting knife.

That definitely broke my passiveness.

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?" I screamed, nauseating waves of panic hitting me at once. "Stop this right now, this is not funny!" I fought hard to free my hands, but it was already too late. Otis just laughed evilly, playing with the knife in a deliberate way, moving it from one hand to another as if wanting me to see it clearly.

The same knife he had used to slice that woman's throat recently. The blade that had been quickly wiped on his pants, and as I could notice, there was still some dried blood left.

I stared at the knife in horror, then at his face. I saw there a sadistic expression that made me feel sick with fear. That could not possiblybe good. I begged: "Otis... if this is a game, stop it immediately. Please."

I got an amused chuckle back in response. "What makes you think that this is a game? Think you are irreplaceable, uh?" he hissed, running his finger across the dull edge of the knife. As I watched him, wide-eyed in fear and disbelief, he continued: "Well, guess what? I have a room full of beautiful women downstairs, just waiting for me to go there and do anything I want with them. How many more times did you think I would screw you without being bored?"

I was too shocked for words. I deeply wished it was just a nightmare; I willed myself to wake up soon, cozily wrapped in his arms. It didn't work.

"But no worries!" Otis added casually. "I'm not completely bored yet, honey. In fact, I'm very interested. I shall yet find out how you feel when you are _fucking dead_."

That got rid of my silent shock; I began screaming with all I had, in complete panic and horror. Not that it would help, I sadly realized; no one from that family would give a damn about my fate. They lived in a ranch, meaning: no neighbors to hear my screams and call 911.

Otis forced a hand over my mouth, covering it. "Shut up, bitch!" he yelled angrily. "Nobody is fucking gonna help you, so shut your mouth and don't fucking drive me deaf!" Then, on a normal volume but a threatening tone, he added, placing the blade on the level of my eyes: "Next time you scream like that, I'll shut you up by burying this knife inside your fucking throat. Do you get it?"

I nodded, terrified, not doubting his threats for a second. Otis uncovered my mouth, and I began crying in heavy sobs. "Stop crying for the devil's sake!" he shouted, grasping my hair fiercely. "Shut the fuck up!"

How is one supposed to stop crying? I thought. But I slowly managed to; I had no intention of making matters worse for myself.

"Now," he continued in a calmer tone "we are gonna do things my way. Remember: today you are dying anyway. If you make things easy for me, I'll make things easy for you. You fuck up with me, you are gonna see my worst side – and believe me, you don't want that. Understand?"

"Otis, please..." I attempted once again, weakly.

"_Understand?_" he repeated with more intensity.

I nodded, my eyes filled with unshed tears, fighting hard to hold my sobs back.

"Good. You're wearing too many clothes, though. Let me do something about that."

At that, he closed his fingers around the fabric of my dress – well, the dress that I had borrowed from that pile – and ripped it with little effort. He tore the entire dress so fast and with such violence, that act itself just terrified me more.

"You have such a pretty skin" he said softly, coming closer and slightly pressing the tip of the knife against my cheek, making me whimper and close my eyes shut. He proceeded to slide it down, carefully, in a cruel teasing. "So smooth, so clean. Flawless. Imagine how it's gonna look like when I'm done with you."

"No!" I pleaded in terror, sickening waves of panic hitting me, one after the other. "Otis, please, don't!"

But saying that was the same as saying nothing.

Grabbing me by the waist, Otis pulled me down on the bed, forcing me to lye instead of sit. The rope holding my wrists to the headboard was too short, so he untied it – I didn't even dare to try and escape at that moment, I knew he wouldn't let me – and tied it again, lower. Moving the knife around on his hands, intentionally trying to scare me – as if I weren't terrified enough! – he kept smiling in that cruel, sadistic way, obviously enjoying my fear. Holding the knife on his right hand, he placed the tip of the blade on my wrist, making me whimper. It was terrifying feeling that sharp, cold metal in such a delicate place. One cut there, and I would bleed to death very soon.

Rationally, I should wish for that to happen; Otis had said that I was going to die no matter what, so I should find myself lucky if it turned out to be fast and painless as possible. But rationality wasn't working well at all with me; I didn't want to die.

Squeezing my eyes shut and holding my breath, I felt Otis softly and slowly running the tip of the blade over the length of my arm. When he reached the side of my breast, the knife made its way upwards, until it reached my throat.

I started to hyperventilate. I was breathing so fast, yet the oxygen didn't seem enough. I concentrated very hard on not moving; any abrupt movement could bring the delicate skin against the sharp blade, and blood would flow freely.

Otis sensed that teasing me in that area was particularly frightening to me, so he took his sweet time sliding the knife up and down my throat. "I could be nice to you," he said in almost a whisper "and finish this real quick. I could press this blade just a little stronger in you," and by saying it, he did exactly so, but not enough to cut "make it bleed, and it would be over before you knew it. What do you think?"

"No!" I cried, still holding back sobs and fighting to breathe.

"Yeah, I guess not, or it would ruin the fun, wouldn't it? Nobody's in a hurry here." He slid the knife towards my shoulder, the wide side of the metal in contact with my skin. Then, in a jerk, he cut one of the straps of my bra, then the other, finishing the work by cutting the center panel and pulling it out of the way. "Uhm, look who came in to play." He gently landed the blade on my left breast, its cold contact making me jump. He chuckled, satisfied. "Sensitive there, huh?" He gently ran the tip of the knife in circles, slowly getting to the center, and finally sitting the wide side of the blade on my hardened nipple.

I cried out, panting as he rubbed the blade in a circular motion, up and down, round and round the sensitive nipple. Finally he removed the knife and closed his lips around it, making me cry out loud and arch my back involuntarily.

Up until that moment, there had been no pleasure at all involved in that situation (to me, that is;) – it only involved fear and panic and horrible feelings. But as I felt Otis' mouth sucking on my nipple, after all the cruel teasing, it all felt so intense as I had never experienced before. In one minute I was terrified for my life; the next, I was subconsciously arching my back toward him, pulling my breasts closer to his face, and moaning in need of more. I wanted for him to continue; he simply _couldn't_ stop.

Otis repeated the same procedure with the other breast, but this time the knife play didn't scare me as much as before; I faced it as a promise that his lips would be there soon, sucking and licking and driving me wild.

When he was done with my breasts, the knife kept trailing down, making me shiver along the way. I was still terrified, of course. But at that point, if I died, I would have died happy. Otis was making sure of that.

The knife reached my stomach, his lips following close; he teasingly licked around my belly button, as the sharp razor rested nearby. The blade went down my navel, turning sideways and down my leg. Otis tried to pull my legs apart, but I made an effort to keep them closed, instinctively. "Open your legs" he ordered, pressing the knife against my thigh – as if saying that I didn't have a choice, and if I didn't open it, he would do so himself.

Obeying, I shakily left him raise my left thigh; soon I felt the tip of the blade touch my skin in the level of my knee, slowly sliding up my inner thigh. And up.

I felt his fingers opening my lower lips, exploring a bit in there. When they found my clit, I jumped with a loud gasp. He touched me there with the cold blade, gently rubbing the wide side of it back and forth. Soon he removed the blade, substituting it with his lips. I was thrashing with need and absolute pleasure.

When my first orgasm came, it was so intense that I saw blackness in front of my eyes; I only didn't faint because I was in an alert state. As I recovered, slowly coming back to reality, I felt Otis positioning himself between my legs, lowering his body and entering me in one deep thrust. He began mindlessly fucking me, and it didn't take long until he had his own orgasm – and I had my second.

Once my need was over and sanity returned, as Otis lye on top of me exhausted, the deep fear returned as well. I was visibly shaking, traumatized. Is he going to kill me now? I wondered, breathing heavily beneath him. He had had his pleasure with me on my _living state_; if he really intended to rape my dead body, as he had informed me, that was probably a good time as ever to get things started. In my case, _ended._

More than that, I was felt humiliated as hell. So much that I almost wished it was over with. I had actually _enjoyed it_ from some point on; that made me feel depraved and loathsome.

Finally Otis rolled over to the side, and slowly supported himself on his elbows, watching me closely. I faced him, too, looking him in the eye. I was almost relieved that this was coming to a conclusion.

I flinched when he sat on the bed and grabbed the knife once again, bending over to me. I closed my eyes shut, praying that it wouldn't be too painful.

And then, to my complete and utmost surprise, I felt a small pressure on the ropes. In a few seconds they were cut, and my hands free. I snapped my eyes open, lowering my arms and staring at Otis, who had the word "GUILT" metaphorically written on his forehead.

He looked like a worried teenager who was about to confess to his parents that he did something really, really, _really_ bad.

I rose to a sitting position, shaking uncontrollably and not taking my eyes off of his, guessing what was coming next.

Looking guilty as hell, after hesitating for several moments, Otis took a deep breath. "You did not enjoy that at all, did you?"

I couldn't believe my fucking ears.

Without a word, I slowly managed to get out of the bed. As I searched for something to wear, Otis broke the awkward silence: "That was a _game_, Laura. Remember me telling you that it was a game? Remember you saying that you trusted me?"

Fucking bastard son of a bitch. I couldn't believe it.

I fetched a large flannel shirt that was lying on the floor, dressed it without anything else underneath and, without a word or a glance back, I left the room.

Like a zombie, I eventually made it to the small creek. I let my body fall limply to the ground, where I lay quietly for a long time, listening to the nature and feeling numb. When I was ready, I let my emotions take over. Bracing myself, I cried until I could no more.

A while later – I wouldn't know if one hour or four – Tiny guided Otis to where I was. He went on and on explaining himself – he shouldn't have gone so far when I obviously wasn't game, but he thought I may like it anyway, he was way too much into it to stop – and so forth. He said that I could beat him up if that was going to make me feel better. Boy, and so I did. I never attacked someone with such ferocity, punching and slapping and screaming in rage, like a madwoman. Otis let me, without reacting. Of course, as soon as I saw a small bleeding cut on his face (thanks to my nails), I stopped, crying with guilt (I'm completely unaccustomed to violence) and throwing myself in his arms.

Soon enough, we were back as two lovebirds. Sex was great once again. Otis did come up with some new, crazy ideas – but from there on, he made _sure_ to let me know when it was going to be playfully rough. I'd know that it was all role-play, and I was going to be safe, so I trusted him more each time. Talk about a bad episode leading to something good... very good indeed.


	15. Talent Show

**Chapter 15 – Talent Show**

Everything was peachy in Wonderland.

I was getting along very well with an entire family of homicidal maniacs, and dating the nastier, most dangerous of them. I was happy, and it was all good.

But that couldn't continue forever.

After a week or so, I reminded myself of the reason why I was there. Besides the irresistible craving for Otis, that is. I had to prevent the Fireflys from being killed. I knew exactly how their future was going to be, and I had to stop the tragedy somehow.

I had to do something about it rather sooner than later... it was time to move on.

I also had gone there with a secondary mission – trying to turn them into good people, save their souls – but I had abandoned the idea; I didn't think it was going to work.

So I decided to concentrate on the main mission. One day I joined Tiny, sitting on the rocks by the creek, and we stayed there for hours, comfortable with each other's silence. While throwing little rocks on the water, I plotted and studied the possibilities, and tried to come up with the best plan I could. It would have been very helpful having someone to talk to... but I didn't have that luxury.

One thing was for sure: I could not avoid the dreadful task of scheduling a family meeting and having a frank conversation with them.

I didn't see how that was going to work. They would not believe me; they were going to kill me by trying to convince them of a half-sci-fi, half-fairy-tale story. But not if I was smart. Somehow, I had to convey to them that I came from year 2005, with the exclusive mission of altering their destinies and saving them from death, all the while sounding convincing. Once they were convinced, I would probably have to come up with a plan – but I was going to worry about that later.

We were going to have that meeting the next day, before dinner. The whole family, including Spaulding.

But first, I had to have a little talk with Sheriff Wydell.

It won't be risky if I am careful, I told myself. I had to find out as much as I could, especially what the police knew so far. Did they suspect the Fireflys already? If not, solving the problem was almost too easy. And if they suspected them, did they have evidence? Were any bodies found? Was there any reason why the Fireflys should immediately move out of state, or simply readjusting a few things would do the trick?

One way or another, the investigation would be a proof of my commitment and my seriousness. I would be able to back up my claims with facts, and the Fireflys wouldn't think I was crazy or a liar. Being against the police and on their side. Yes, that would definitely make them believe me, and we'd have enough info to change the future in a snap.

Looking at Tiny still silent beside me, I smiled happily. "Hey big boy, we should have an especial family dinner tonight. What do you think?"

I wanted that last night to be especial – just in case that my plan failed and I wouldn't live for another dinner.

The whole family was gathered at the dinner table – me, Otis, Baby, Mama, Rufus, Tiny, and even Spaulding, who I had insisted to be invited over. We had fried chicken (Spaulding's courtesy) with rice and salad, and plenty of beer. Everybody was animated, Spaulding was stealing the show with his hilarious clown jokes, and we laughed and talked more than ate. Afterwards, a bottle of vodka was passed around, and the alcohol got the best of me pretty quickly.

Rising, I ding-dinged the spoon against the nearly empty bottle. "Can I have everybody's attention, please?"

As the talking quieted down and everybody had their eyes on me – which was probably a surprise for them, since I rarely put myself as the center of attention – I started my little cheesy speech. "I have a couple of things to say. First, I am very happy for being here with you all tonight. I have been having a wonderful time living among this unique family. It's being a true privilege, and I want to thank you all for putting up with me."

"Oh no, a tearjerker speech! Somebody shoot her!" Baby yelled, and everybody laughed.

"Don't go fucking crying on us, girl!" Spaulding shouted above the loud noise.

"I also want to thank you for not having killed me yet!" I added, causing another explosion of laughter around the table.

"You're welcome, darling" mama laughed, raising her cup in cheers. "But don't thank us just yet; we may do that any time!"

I was drunk enough to find that hilarious.

"The other thing is... tonight is a very especial night" I continued. "Before you ask, it is especial because _I say so_ – and to celebrate, I propose that we make a fucking talent show!"

Baby jumped in her chair, clapping hands. "A talent show! I like that!"

"We didn't have one since last Halloween!" mama exclaimed, animated. "Good idea, Laura!"

"Everybody has to participate, no excuses!" I went on. "You can sing a song, recite a poem, dance, play an instrument, tell a joke... anything artistic that you feel like doing. If you are interested, raise your arm!"

The majority agreed, and after a half-hour break to get prepared, our personal crazy show started.

Baby was one of the most enthusiastic participants, all dressed up in some wacko shiny red dress, added to some poorly done makeup that made her look like a scary doll. She demanded to be the first, and no one argued. She played Helen Kane's "I Want to be Bad" on her cassette player, dancing sensually and pretending to sing it.

"When you're learning what lips are for  
And it's naughty to ask for more  
Let a lady confess, I want to be bad!"

Oh, if it's naughty to rouge your lips  
Shake your shoulders and shake your hips  
Then, let a lady confess, I want to be bad!"

Getting enthusiastic applause from all, especially mama, Baby left the stage all giggly, taking a seat with us.

Rufus volunteered as the second participant. He walked heavily to the stage, curving his back a great deal in order to reach the microphone. Tapping at the mike to test it, and holding a note, he began, not wasting words: "I wrote a verse:

Roses are read

Violets are blue

I'll kill you fucking dead

If I don't like you."

He stood straight, silently looking at us and waiting for a reaction. We all just stared at him. That's it? I held back laughter, finding it so damn funny how he was making a fool of himself. As we started to clap for him, however, we realized that his presentation wasn't over: the huge man reached for something on the ground, behind the wall, and yanked it forth for us to see. He held the dead body of a woman, by the hair, whose neck was twisted unnaturally, obviously broken.

I guess he hadn't liked her, therefore the inspiration for the verse. Or was it the other way around? Anyway, he got an ovation.

Captain Spaulding came next, doing what he did best – making us all laugh with his uncomfortable, disturbing jokes. Otis had to verbally kick him out of there, eventually, otherwise the show would go on all night.

On his turn, Tiny went up the stage, watching us silently for a few moments. Then he displayed a large drawing he'd made in the half-hour break: it seemed like some random, nervous scratching.

"That is just precious, Baby Boy! What is it?" mama asked encouragingly.

He just said one word: "Fire."

They all laughed, making a few lame jokes on Tiny's obsession with fire. I didn't find it the least bit funny; much on the contrary. It reminded me of his horrible fate that must be avoided; my personal mission. Tomorrow, I told myself. Don't let that spoil tonight.

Otis was the one reluctant to go when it was his turn. Knowing him better, I knew that he wanted to; but didn't want to admit enjoying a silly game. So I physically pulled him onstage, amidst laugher from everybody – of course he let me – and we all cheered for him and asked for him to show us something. Otis finally conceded, faking a little exasperation.

As he pulled his notebook, Spaulding yelled "If you didn't have the intention to participate, why did you bring that damn book?"

We all laughed once again, yelling "busted!" and encouraging Otis to go on.

"Shut up!" he yelled, not able to hold back a smile. "It's my damn turn here, so keep your fucking mouth shut."

Of course, that only caused Spaulding to shout some insult back, and pretty soon everybody was involved, exchanging treats involving graphic, colorful ways to kill each other. I freaked out a bit, but I realized it was all fun – it was a family thing, they would never hurt each other.

When peace was reinstalled, Otis made his presentation, consulting his notes and giving us a long-winded, passionate speech about... well, it had something to do with "understanding of the principles of the cosmos" and "the levels of human conscience", mixed with "blood as the eternal keeper of primordial art". Don't ask me to elaborate; I had no idea what he fuck he was trying to say. (It's _that_ kind of conversation that I mentioned before; that I shared with Otis countless times, and could actually reply to with philosophical bullshit.)

Considering the audience's facial expressions, their heads were hurting already, and I held back laughter. I walked up the stage and gently touched Otis shoulder; he interrupted his speech for a moment and I whispered in his ear: "Honey, why don't you start wrapping it up? I don't think they can take much of that at once."

Otis followed my suggestion, ending it after a few more minutes. Then it was Mother Firefly's turn. She was bizarrely dressed in what resembled a Las Vegas girl outfit. She played a wordless striptease-sounding song in the cassette player, and began dancing around – without stripping, thank God!. She was trying to be sensual, but the overall effect was plain odd – she looked like a maniac.

As mama received her enthusiastic hand of applause and left stage, it was my turn as the last of the participants. Drunkenly, I stepped onstage and announced that I was going to sing a song. Clearing my throat, I held the microphone and began destroying one of Abba's songs:

"I have a dream, a song to sing

To help me cope with anything

If you see the wonder of a fairy tale

You can take the future even if you fail..."

I was caught by my own enthusiasm, practically yelling it on the microphone, eyes closed and feeling the lyrics.

"I belieeeeeeeeeeeve in angels

Something good in everything I see

I believe-"

Opening my eyes and shutting up immediately, I had just realized that the audience was staring at me, in bewildered expressions that demanded "What the fucking hell is that?"

I was definitely not being popular. "Ah... bad choice of song, I guess" I giggled, embarrassed.

"I wanna go again! I have something that I want to sing!" Baby yelled, motioning to ran towards the stage.

"No, wait a minute! Let me try something else." Trying to quickly think of something adequate, my glance reached Otis. Yes, I smiled to myself. I know exactly what I am going to sing.

Pausing for a second to remember the lyrics, I started, not taking my eyes off of Otis and willing my voice to sound sexy.

"I've got you under my skin  
I've got you deep in the heart of me  
So deep in my heart, that you're really a part of me  
I've got you under my skin"

I tried not to laugh, remembering that Otis was very much into getting under other people's skins...

"I've tried so not to give in  
I've said to myself this affair never is gonna go so well  
But why should I try to resist, when baby, I know so well  
That I've got you under my skin"

That was so fitting, and I sang like I meant it. Holding the microphone, I slowly made my way towards Otis, who glared at me with a shiny expression. He was obviously taken aback – and he was liking it.

"I'd sacrifice anything come what might  
For the sake of having you near  
In spite of a warning voice that comes in the night  
And repeats and it shouts in my ear"

Once again – so damn fitting! Standing in front of him, I slowly sat on his lap, affectionately running the tip of my fingers down his face, and singing the last lines of the song:

"Don't you know you fool, you never can win  
Use your mentality, wake up to reality!  
But each time I do, just the thought of you  
Makes me stop before I begin-"

His kiss interrupted me; as he bent me down sideways, holding my back and continue kissing me, we were reached by a big hand of applause and cheering.

"Don't they make such a cute couple?" mama cooed.

As he brought me back to a sitting position and broke the kiss, we both grinned and laughed, staring at each other lovingly. That was one of my happiest moments in that house.

"You two go get a room!" Spaulding shouted, laughing.


	16. Going Down the Ladder

**Chapter 16 – Going Down the Ladder**

"I am going to town" I announced during breakfast, crossing my fingers that no one would oppose to it.

"I'm going with you, sis!" Baby offered, already excited.

Shit, I cursed to myself. "Baby, if you don't mind, I'd like to go alone. I need to spend some time by myself... meditating time, you know."

She looked disappointed, but didn't duel on that. "Well, ok then."

"You guys need anything from town?"

"Yes, why don't you buy us some ice cream?"

"Sure! How about some tutti fucking fruity?" I couldn't control myself.

"That sounds good!" Baby approved.

Relieved by being able to leave without incident, I walked to the closest bus station and made my way to town.

Taking a deep, nervous breath, I got of the bus that had left me almost at the police station's door. Willing myself into a good mood, I put on the best innocent expression that I could make, and entered the enemy territory.

"I am here to see Sheriff Wydell" I announced to the cop who was playing receptionist. After fifteen minutes, I was asked to follow him, and he leaded me to the man.

He didn't look so much like William Forsythe, but the aura of power around him told me he was the man I was looking for. His office was dark and a bit sinister, the only window closed; apparently it was matching his late state of mind.

"Hi!" I greeted him jovially, smiling and reaching out my hand for him to shake. "I'm Marianne Williams. Thank you for seeing me, sheriff!"

He studied me with his eyes narrowed, as if telling me that he didn't have time for bullshit.

"What can I do for you?" he asked without preambles.

I sat on the chair across his desk. He didn't look very patient, so I cut it to the chase. "I am a Master's Degree student from UT El Paso, where I'm graduating in Criminal Justice" I lied, trying to sound very serious. "My final paper deals specifically with the procedures that the police goes through to investigate missing people's cases."

"We have lots of that going on here!" he sent me a dark smile.

"So I've heard! I know that there are several dozens of cases of missing people here in Ruggsville County, so I thought, that would be perfect material for my paper!"

Wydell shot me a suspicious stare, telling me that he didn't like where I was getting to.

"What I'm asking, sheriff, is any information you can give me for my research. For instance: how do you go about looking for clues on who perpetrated the murders?"

"How do you know there were murders?" he asked, looking me closely.

Shit. "From the TV, of course! I know that only a few bodies were found, but one would assume that there are probably more. I would also need to know if you already have any suspects, or any evidence pointing at someone, and how you managed to get that information."

"Lady," he said in a threatening tone, furrowing his brows "I am a very busy man; I don't have time to help you research for your stupid school paper. I have criminals to hunt instead. And even if I had time, this kind of information is absolutely confidential to the public. Now, if you will excuse me, I have work to do."

I slowly rose, reluctant. "Can't you tell me at least if you suspect anyone?"

"Goodbye, miss."

I was terribly disappointed – I didn't even get a tiny bit of relevant information! But insisting on the case would not be a good idea, I knew. I was already lucky enough for not being arrested and forced to say why I was making all those questions.

Stepping outside, since there was nothing left to do, I walked towards the nearest grocery store – I needed to buy ice cream before heading back to the ranch. It was when a hand grabbed my arm into a tight grip. "Oh, hello Laura! What a surprise to see you here!" he mocked in a cheerful tone.

My smile fainted. _Shit, shit, shit!_ "Spaulding, hi!"

He pulled me towards his red truck parked on the curb, ordering curtly: "Get in the car."

I obeyed, trying to act naturally. Silently, he began to drive towards the ranch.

I was afraid to say a word. My hope was that, maybe if I stood quiet, he wouldn't say anything either. Maybe he hadn't seen me leaving the police station; maybe he casually saw me afterwards. Of course, I knew that I was just deluding myself. There was going to be hell to pay when we reached the house. But I didn't want to think about it. Hell, no.

When we got there, I jumped out of the trunk and started walking towards the house casually, but Spaulding got a hold of my arm again, dragging me inside like a prisoner. Mama and Rufus were in the kitchen; as they saw us, she asked alarmed: "What happened?"

"You wanna know what happened?" Spaulding started. "Guess where I found the little princess? She was at the police station, chit-chatting with the sheriff. What they were talking about, is anyone's guess."

"_What?_" Otis exclaimed, incredulous. He had just walked in and heard the conversation.

Baby and Tiny showed up almost at the same time, somehow sensing trouble. "What the fuck are you talking about, daddy?" she asked.

"You've heard me! I followed her, because I knew that she was up to something, and none of you wanted to fucking see it. Next thing I know, she's entering the fucking police station – I was near enough to hear her asking to speak with the sheriff. When she left, I took her to the car, and here we are. Now, make your own damn conclusions about it!"

I had all the eyes fixed on me, in incredulous stares.

"Laura, what the fuck were you doing in the police?" Otis wanted to know, grabbing my arm in a grip tighter than Spaulding's.

"What do you think she was doing, Otis?" mama shouted angrily. "Tell me, just take a guess!"

As I watched them in an intimidated silence, thinking of a way to tell the truth, my lack of words got misinterpreted.

"She betrayed us!" Baby stated, baffled. "Fucking bitch!" She rolled her hand into a fist, strongly punching me in the face.

Things were spinning out of control too fast. Otis was shaking me, demanding to know the truth, as everybody seemed to be talking at the same time, shouting me accusations. I was dizzy, and my world was falling apart again.

"We had you in our own house," mama said in my face, indignant "we treated you as a member of this family, just so you go around and give us away to the cops?"

"I did not betray anybody!" I finally shouted. "I went to the police for other reasons – I would never think of denouncing you!"

"Oh really?" Baby slightly shoved me backwards. "So why did you go there? You have the hots for men in uniform, or something? You wanted to fuck one of them?"

"I was trying to get information from them to avoid letting you all being killed!" I spit it all at once, angrily.

Next thing I know, Otis was grabbing me by the hair, his hunting knife pressed against my throat. "Otis, what are you doing?" I gasped.

"No," he yanked my head with barely contained violence "_you_ are gonna tell me what you are doing! And do not fucking lie to me!" His eyes were ones of a madman, full of ice-blue rage. Ice and fire. He suddenly seemed to realize something. In a low, dangerous tone, he accused me: "You've been lying all this time, haven't you? Every single word. Every move was calculated. All you wanted was to spy on us."

Removing the blade from my throat and letting go of my hair, shoving me backwards, he told his family: "I don't think there is anything else that we need to know. It's all very clear to me. We've already lost enough time with her."

"Wait! Let me explain what happened!" I exclaimed.

"We don't want your explanations!" mama shot at me. Then at Otis: "She is your guest; you decide how to handle it."

"There is not much to decide" he chuckled menacingly, but with sadness. "This is just too disgusting, even for me. I don't want to have to deal with her; I don't want to touch her ever again. Not even to kill her."

Good, I thought bitterly. So are they going to let me go?

"Rufus, you do it" Otis asked. "Make it slow and painful." And at that, he turned his back on us and headed for his room.

With a huge mix of emotions, I tried to scream my way out of it, begging for a chance to explain myself. But no one would listen; they all turned their backs and went back to their daily activities. Rufus held my arm and dragged me along with him, pushing me inside his room and locking the door. I backed up against the opposite wall. "No, no, no, please Rufus, don't kill me!" I begged.

"I won't" he simply stated.

Staring at him in silence, I was dumbfounded. I finally asked: "Why?"

"You may be a liar, but you're not against us. You like Otis. You even like us."

"I'm glad that somebody noticed" I smiled sadly. "But, how are you so sure of that?"

"I'm good at reading people."

I looked at the huge man standing in front of me. "Thank you" I said simply. "From all the people in this house, you were the last person I ever expected to defend me one day. I thought you hated me."

He didn't reply to that. "I don't know what you are up to. Tell me your story, and I'll bring it to the others."

"Can we sit?" I suggested. "It's a long story."

o o o o o o

"So I die first?" Rufus asked, making sure that he understood correctly.

"I am sorry, but you do. You are the luckiest one, though; a few bullets and you're down. The others have it pretty bad."

"What about the house?" he wanted to know.

"It's burned eventually, with Tiny inside." I frowned. "But hey – none of this needs to happen if we can avoid it, ok? You need to go there, tell your family what I just told you, and let's make a plan."

"You stay here" he ordered.

"Rufus? You seem very confident that they are going to believe my story. How come?"

He smiled. It was one of the only times I ever saw his teeth. "They trust my judgment." And left.

Of course. The typical quiet person that never has much to say... but when he opens his mouth, others know that something important is coming.


	17. I Hate Fucked Up Families!

**Chapter 17 – I Hate Fucked Up Families!**

From there on, things never went back to be the same.

Yes, I had been extremely lucky for having Rufus on my side. He convinced the others that I wasn't a traitor, and told them my story: time-machine, Rob Zombie, "who's your daddy?", Lynyrd Skynyrd, and the whole nine yards.

It took us some effort to convince them; but me reporting a few "fun facts" did the trick. For instance: how did I know their every step, every word spoken on last Halloween? I knew the names of some of their victims, I knew the fact that they had all these scrapbooks (which were well guarded and I couldn't possibly have found them), I knew about Dr. Satan, and I knew about the past of each one (courtesy of Rob Zombie's website, mostly). I went on and on throwing details of their own lives at then, until they shouted at me to please stop, and yes Laura, we believe you.

I was one of them once again... but yet, I wasn't anymore.

I could never will myself to hate any of them. I still cared for them, and sure as hell wanted to do my best to help them escape their deaths. But I was no longer carefree around them. Not that I really have, blindly, at any point. But in the past at least I had to fake it, and hah had a great time at that. Now, I was distantly cold, acting like I only meant business.

My intention was to develop a plan of action with them, make sure their asses were saved, and go back home as soon as possible.

I was hurt – what did you expect? I wanted so badly to be Otis' girl again, to hitchhike and shoplift with Baby, to throw little rocks on the water with Tiny, to laugh drunkenly in those hilarious family dinners... But I no longer felt safe around them. For a few days, I believed I was part of the family, but now I knew better – that was never going to happen. Sooner or later, they would put my loyalty in question again... and who knows if I'd have someone to defend me then.

They tried to make it up for me. Baby tried to act as her normal self and invite me to do this or that, but as once I told her, "Which kind of sisters is that, that threaten to kill each other?"

Otis was probably the sorriest, now knowing that he had been the main reason why I went there in the first place. One day he came to me and apologized for treating me the way he did, which is something that I thought him _completely_ incapable of doing. He asked me not to go home; to stay with them permanently. My reply? "Otis, I like you very much. But so far, you've threatened to kill me three times. That is not even _close_ to my idea of a healthy relationship."

"You can kill _me_ the next time I threaten you" he joked. I laughed, but I didn't take him back.

As we still had a few months ahead of us – the police raid was supposed to happen in May – we didn't think much of delaying our planning for a few days.

Wrong thinking.

One night, I decided to visit Otis in his room. And no, it's not what you're thinking; I just wanted to talk to him. I missed his craziness, his voice, his laughter, even his insane speeches and his clothes constantly soaked with blood. Hell, I missed _everything _about him, but a friendly and well-behaved conversation would have to do.

Approaching his door, I began hearing the moans. Still, I opened it.

I opened my eyes wide, blinking several times. I wondered if tiredness was making me see things. But no – there was actually another woman in Otis' bed.

"What the _hell_?" I couldn't believe it. She was naked, tied up and gagged, her body displaying purple spots all over. She was moaning in pain, tears rolling down her face. For all I could tell, she was not enjoying it. Not even a bit.

Otis was on top of her, naked, thrusting in and out of her. He had a firm grip on her hair, tilting her chin slightly upwards, as he held his hunting knife between his lips. He didn't stop fucking her when he saw me, petrified at the door. "Hey, honey!" he held the knife on his hand and greeted me in a low, husky voice. "You finally came to visit! Close that door and come join us."

It took me a few seconds to react. "Otis, what the fuck are you doing?" I yelled, coming out of my stupor. "Get off of her immediately!"

"Aw, come on, baby. I bet you've never done this before, huh?" he said wickedly. Let's have a little fun, all the three of us."

Out of impulse, I ran to them and began pounding on Otis' chest, trying to shove him away. "Get off of her, I said!" I yelled hysterically. "Stop it!"

Only then he stopped his thrusts. Instead of being angry, he was laughing. "But why?" His tone was pure sarcasm. "Because you are trying to be nice to her, you wanna save her? You because you are jealous?"

"I am not jealous!" I yelled angrily. Taking a deep breath and making an effort to control myself, I reasoned with him. "You have to stop hurting and killing people just for your own personal enjoyment! She hasn't done anything to you. She does not deserve this! Look at her" I continued, probably sounding like a priest. "She's in a lot of pain."

Otis looked concerned, apparently studying the woman below him. She still cried, looking at him with imploring eyes. His wicked smile disappeared. "You're right" he said in a surprised tone, as if he was having an epiphany. "The poor woman is in agony. She shouldn't have to suffer through all this."

"Exactly" I confirmed, not quite believing my ears. "That's what I've been trying to tell you!"

"We should be nice to her" he said low, as if mostly to himself. He was gently caressing her forehead, touching the spots were he had hit her. "We should take away her pain. What do you think?"

I smiled, feeling dizzy with joy. I am a hero! I thought. I'm up to saving the day. I am going to save someone's life! "Yes, Otis, definitely." I ran my fingers through his hair, affectionately. "I am so happy to see that you have hope, after all. I knew you had the potential to change and become a good person. Now, let's take care of this lady right now."

"She needs immediate care, doesn't she?" It was a statement.

"As soon as possible. Maybe she'll recover and be okay. What can I do?

Otis slowly flashed me his teeth, in that evil smile again. "You can start by taking your clothes off, and lay here on my side. Then I'll tell you what to do."

As I gasped in disbelief, he continued: "I am sure we can think of many ways to make her enjoy her last hours. Wouldn't that be nice of us?"

Too struck for words, I hesitated for a few moments, quickly evaluating my options. There weren't many – at least none that would benefit Otis' soon-to-be victim. So much for being a hero. Grabbing the light comforter and angrily pulling it out of the bed, I made a ball out of it and held it tightly. "We are gonna talk tomorrow", I hissed, stalking out of the room.

"Laura, don't be such a fun spoiler!" Otis said, amused.

I slammed the door behind me.

I barely got a chance to walk a few steps, when there was Rufus, standing casually in a corner, watching me. I passed by him, angrily shoving him away in the process. "Why do you have to follow me everywhere?" I spat. "Go get a life!"

He didn't react. If I had spoken to him that way, _shouldered him_, when we first met, I think he would have broken my neck on the spot.

I headed for the living room couch, where I had spent the last several nights. Getting there, though, made me change my mind. Some guy, his guts half-falling off his opened belly, and his face cut to the point of being unrecognizable, had taken it first. As I didn't consider sharing, I tried my second best option: Baby's room.

I knocked, holding to the comforter as a protection. Baby's voice replied "Come on in!" As I was half-expecting, she wasn't alone. Through the darkness, I saw a guy and her lying in bed, naked. No blood, no guts, everybody seemed alive and well. They were just lying there peacefully, _cuddling_ as I noticed, surprised. Baby seemed very contented, her head lying on the man's chest as he rolled a lock of her hair around his finger.

"Ah, sorry to disturb you" I apologized, anxious to close the door and leave.

"Wait!" she stopped me. What is it that you wanted, Laura?"

"I was hoping that I could sleep over here" I explained, trying not to look at their nakedness. "But I didn't know that you had company."

"Oh, that's not a problem at all!" she assured me, changing to a sitting position. "Hey, let me introduce you: Laura, this is Goober; he's a friend that comes here sometimes."

"It's G. Ober, doll, I told you so many times!" he reminded her with a slow, irritating voice.

"Goober, this is my sister Laura."

"Uhmmm, nice sister, this one you have" he nauseatingly stated.

"Honey, why don't you make your bed over here? Just put your comforter over there" she pointed to a spot on the ground. "You are not bothering us, I promise; we are all done. Goober is leaving soon."

"Thank you Baby" I smiled. "But I'll see you tomorrow. Good dreams." Closing the door, I took a deep breath. I hate fucked up families! I thought.

Where the hell am I supposed to sleep now? I wondered. Not able to come up with a better option, and irritated as hell, I stepped on the cool air outside, all the while cursing beneath my breath. Walking to the woods, I found a decent spot below the trees. I laid the comforter there and jumped in, covering up to my chin in anger.

The Texan air was cool but not cold, and being outside didn't feel half bad. When I was done ruminating my anger over Otis, I fell into a sleep full of bad, disturbing dreams that made me roll around all night.


	18. Challenging Fate

**Chapter 18 – Challenging Fate**

I woke up the next morning with a strange noise. The crack-crack of dry leaves, and footsteps.

I opened my eyes. It was just Tiny, dragging a girl's naked corpse by her feet.

"Good morning, Tiny!" I greeted him with a lazy yawn. He stopped for a second to wave, and then continued on his way.

I had given up feeling bad about the Fireflys' victims. There was not a way that I could avoid those people being murdered, so I concluded that there was no point in me feeling bad every time. That would eventually drive me crazy, so I was done with it. I didn't think much of it this time.

Still, there was something bothering me about that scene. I couldn't point my finger at it. Do I still have a conscience, perhaps? I wondered, darkly smiling to myself. I looked again at Tiny dragging that corpse, Lord knows where to, and a déjà vu feeling hit me. Where have I seen this before? I tried to remember, my stomach starting to hurt with sudden unease.

And then I saw them coming.

Several police cars entered the property, approaching swiftly, parking in front of the house. Before I could recover from my shock, a gazillion cops appeared, silently pointing rifles and pistols at the house.

"No!" I began to scream, but a huge hand covered my mouth and strangled the sound, as a strong arm held me by the shoulders. I knew it was Tiny. Panic took over me completely, as I realized exactly what was going on. I fought with all my strength to free myself and run towards the house – without a plan; only the simple wish to stop what was about to happen – but Tiny held me in place.

I had been so stupid not to pay attention to the signs. Otis waking up with a corpse on his bed. Tiny dragging a dead girl outside. But the first sign had got my attention for other reasons; and even if I had understood the second one, it would have been too late already.

How is this possible? I screamed inside my head. This is only March, but the raid is supposed to happen only in May!

"This is Sheriff Wydell" a masculine, authoritarian voice that I recognized announced on a megaphone, as Tiny and I looked from the distance, covered by bushes. "You are surrounded."

No, no, no, no, no, no, I kept telling myself. This cannot be happening. I have to do something! I stopped fighting Tiny, realizing that running towards those murderous cops would do no good to anyone. I had to think, and fast. I turn my face to him, in a silent request to let me speak. He uncovered my mouth and let go off me. "Tiny, this is it" I whispered hurriedly, looking into his eyes with mine full of unshed tears. "This is what I saw happening. They are gonna kill Rufus and take your mother. We have to do something-"

A deafening, blasting succession of gunfire interrupted me, as I curled up against Tiny, seeking protection. He carefully put his deformed arms around me, as I covered my ears and screamed in fear and protest. When the long gunfight reached an end, I was crying freely, although silently as possible. "I am so sorry, Tiny" I managed to say, weakly, among painful sobs. "Your brother is dead."

Suddenly, an idea occurred to me. I wiped away my tears and forced myself to remain strong for the time being; perhaps I could still avoid the rest of the tragedy. "Tiny, there is a sewer, or some large drainpipe connected to the basement. How can I get there?" He looked at me for a moment, probably wondering how I knew that; then pointed an arm to our right, at a path on the woods.

"I have to go." Fighting an enormous pain on my chest, I told him: "There is a very big chance that Otis, Baby and Spaulding will be captured and brought back to this house. They are going to be tortured for hours. Please, stay here, hidden, and when the house is on fire, go rescue them. Will you do that?"

Tiny waved yes, pain showing in his sensitive eyes. I threw my arms around him, in a painful goodbye hug. I turned to leave, then thought back and said: "If that happens... please tell Otis that I went back home. And that I love him." Looking at Tiny and at the house for the last time, I turned around and ran through the pointed path.

Soon enough, I found the sewer, just as I remembered from the movie. But I didn't know if Baby and Otis had come out of it yet, and I certainly couldn't go in and verify. Making a decision, I ran forward, trying to guess which direction they would choose. I ran and ran, until my lungs were burning without oxygen. I headed forward and eventually in circles, desperate to find Otis and Baby.

But I found something else instead.

The body of a waitress, stabbed and left in the middle of the road.

Dropping on my knees in defeat, I left my head hang back, fighting to breathe and letting the hot sun bathe my sweaty face.

That meant, Otis and Baby had left in her truck, being miles away by now. I didn't have a car to follow them; wouldn't know where to, anyway. I could steal a car and try to make it to the cheap motel where they were heading, but how on earth would I know the location? What the hell was the name of that hotel, anyway? I couldn't remember from the movie. Spaulding knew where it was, and Baby would call him in no time. If I could just talk to him! But even if I knew where he lived – which I didn't – I wouldn't make it on time.

It was all over; there was nothing else that I could do. I lay on the ground, feeling empty as I've never felt before. For a moment there, I felt as drained of life as the corpse beside me.

Or maybe there is something that I can try, I realized, slowly standing on my feet. Of course!

Spaulding's girlfriend, the fat chick. She may know how to get to Charlie's, Spaulding's black brother and pimp. Or maybe not, but that was my only shot left. That's it! I thought with renewed energy, running like lightning towards the Museum of Monsters and Madmen. All the while, I prayed to find a notebook in there, or telephone number clipped to the wall, or anything that would to give me a clue on Spaulding's home address or phone number.

The place was much further away than I had thought, but eventually I got there, shaking of exhaustion and gasping for air. The door had been left unlocked; I got in and immediately started searching, opening and closing drawers, shelves, looking for pieces of paper with numbers in it.

The front door opened, catching me by surprise as I avidly searched through the counter's shelves.

"Oh my, look who is here!" I've heard, and slowly stood upright, knowing beforehand what to expect. I was greeted by Sheriff Widell's flashing smile. He was soon followed by three other cops.

I was simply too exhausted to think of a good excuse for being there. Not that it would have helped.

Wydell approached, in a slow and steady step. "I knew that you were up to something" he said in a friendly tone. "I really didn't buy into that writing-a-paper bullshit you tried to shove down my throat." His face transformed into a frightening mask of rage. "Do you think we are fucking idiots?" he yelled in a thunderous voice, making me jump backwards. At that, the four of them produced guns from their belts, pointing them at me.

"Freeze" he ordered coldly, going back to a normal tone. "Or I'll shoot you right here."

He walked towards me, gun pointed, hate flashing in his eyes.

It was like reliving a scene from days ago, except that there was no Otis in it. The irony of the situation is that, the first time, I almost got shot by supposedly being a cop; this time, the cops themselves wanted to shoot me.

But now I wasn't afraid. Hell, I had survived the Fireflys – I wouldn't let a handful of cops get me.

I stood still as Wydell shoved my hands behind my back, with a violence that absolutely wasn't necessary, and handcuffed me. "May I ask why you are arresting me?"

"You have the right to remain silent" he replied with sarcasm.

One thing was really hurting me, and that was the idea that I may have been the cause for the Fireflys to be found out. Did the cops follow Spaulding's car after I stupidly went to their station? Had I done anything to change the course of the events? If I had stayed home and not messed with time machines, would things have been different?

What I said next came out as a confession, and I knew it. But I absolutely _needed_ to know if it had been my fault. "Did you guys follow me? Huh? How did you find out that I was staying with the Fireflys?"

"Anything you say may be used against you in a court of law" he spat, looking at me angrily.

"Did you see me in town with Baby and Rufus and you made two plus two? Or maybe you were bored and wanted to know what's up with the new girl in town, then you followed me and got the truth by accident?"

In silence, he grabbed my arm painfully and dragged me out of the museum.

"So here you are, controlling yourself to act all correct and professional," I provoked, desperate to make him talk "a great example of an honorable sheriff, just in case that some passerby shows. But then later, at the police station, you'll use your own means to make me talk. Am I right?"

He turned me around with a pull, bending until his face got very close to mine. His breath stank of cheap liquor. One would say that his eyes were liquid hate. "I am gonna make sure you spit everything you know about those worms," he said in a threatening tone "and then some more. You're damn right about that. Starting now. I want you to tell me where the fugitives headed to."

You are out of your mind if you think I am going to help you, pal! I thought to myself. I lied: "How am I supposed to know?"

The blow that hit me on the stomach caught me by surprise. It hadn't been quite of a Rufus-blow, but strong enough to make me double over in pain. The sheriff grabbed me by the shoulders and straightened me up. "You know exactly where they are, and we are not walking out of here until you tell me."

I know – challenging a madman on a rampage is a very, very stupid thing to do. But that wasn't a normal situation. My friends were about to be killed (not to mention that, for the first time, I was thinking of them as _my friends_), with or without my betrayal; I had been caught and likely to be killed too, now that I was believed to be part of the Fireflys. Everything was just a big mess. That explains my giggly reply to Wydell: "Sorry to disappoint you, but that's not going to happen."

Wydell clearly _was_ out of his mind, because he grabbed me by the shoulders and violently tossed me against the wall – all this outside the museum, where anyone could see – pinning me there and began choking me with a powerful hand.

"What did you think, that you were going to walk out of there unpunished?" he yelled, an insane look on his face. "You were there with them for days, clearly not as a hostage, and what can that possibly mean? That you were on their side!" His voice went gradually louder, as his fingers on my throat applied more pressure.

I soon began to panic with the lack of oxygen, but there was nothing that I could do about it. I had my hands cuffed behind my back, and the only people around us were the other cops, who didn't seem to mind their sheriff's handling of the situation.

"You were killing with them, weren't you?" he accused, his voice in a hiss now. "You were probably helping them to torture people, to murder innocents that didn't do anything wrong. You probably laughed and enjoyed it as they suffered. Didn't you?"

He finally let go of me, watching me cough violently and gasp for air. Then he grabbed me and tossed me against the wall again. "Now, where were we? Oh, I believe it was the part where you tell us where your friends are hiding."

No more sarcasm, Laura, please! I urged myself.

And then the truth hit me.

Of course, I thought. Rob Zombie lied about the raid taking place in May. If he had the ability to see into the Fireflys' past, then he saw _me_ as well. He knew that I was going to try and save them. He also knew that I must not. No one can alter the course of events... and he made sure I didn't.

The truth squeezed my heart in pain, but I had to accept it. Now, there was only one thing left to do: go home.

Before Wydell had a chance to hit me or choke me again, I used the last card I had on my sleeve: "I really don't know where they went – seriously – but I know something else that may be of your interest."

"Oh really?" he ridiculed me. "And what would that be?"

"I know where your brother is buried."

That hit Wydell like a slap. He stared at me blankly, fighting to hide his emotions. "What do you know about my brother?" he asked with dangerous calm.

"I never met George Wydell, obviously, but I've heard the story. Last year, one day or so after Halloween, he and some young cop went to Captain Spaulding, investigating about two couples missing." I studied the sheriff's face, and I certainly had his attention. I continued: "Spaulding gave them directions to the Fireflys... and the rest is history."

"What else?" he hissed. "Go ahead."

I almost said "I am sorry for your brother", which was true; but if Wydell believed me to be a cold murdered, he would take it as an affront, just being further angered. So I skipped that part. "I know that he was shot in the head, died instantly, and was buried along with the other cop."

"And where were they buried?"

"Close to here, about three miles down the highway. If you'd like, we could make a deal: we can go there right now and I'd show you the place; in exchange, you'd take it easier on me in prison."

He grabbed me by the throat again. "I make no deals with scum like you. But you will show me where my brother is buried... right now."

I held back a smile of victory. "Okay, okay, I'll show you!" I pretended to comply. They put me on the backseat of one of the brown and white police cars, and we headed to the direction I instructed.

"Stop right there" I told them.

"Where is it?" Wydell asked impatiently.

"I cannot tell it from here, I need to step out of the car."

"Why don't you tell me what you are planning, sweetheart?" he accused.

I took a deep breath. "There is a small sign on the ground that I need to look for. I am handcuffed, sheriff, and there is nowhere I can go. If you are afraid that I may try and run, ask one of the cops to drive further away, that way you guys have me surrounded."

He silently considered my suggestion. "Very well. One false step, one funny thing from you, and we'll shoot. In your kneecap, 'cause you won't get away from me that easy. Is that clear?"

I nodded, and was helped out of the car. Taking a last, quick glance around, I stepped on the sidewalk and began looking. I wasn't sure of the exact location, but after walking several yards – followed by the cops, of course – I found it.

The place where I had come from.

Before the cops had a chance to notice the faint, mirror-like effect of the portal – more than all, before they had a chance to shoot me – I sneakily and quickly stepped in.

Today I enjoy imagining their expressions, picturing their shock when their prisoner vanished into thin air.

I stepped into the portal and fell back home, not fainting this time. My brother happened to be working in the computer, so he was there to greet me.

"Turn it off, turn it off, _now!_!" I yelled hysterically, running blindly and trying to find the "OFF" button for the time machine. (Not that I would be able to press it down, even if I found it, handcuffed as I was.) The last thing that I needed was for Wydell to step into the portal, and show up in my brother's office.

My _mano_ walked to the machine and pressed a button. "It's off, little sister. Hello to you, too!"

Only then I allowed myself to pass out.


	19. Finale

**Chapter 19 – Finale**

Today it's been a week since I'm back home.

I have got my cuffs removed by a locksmith – my brother is curious as hell to know how I got them, but I haven't told him yet. I also haven't explained the choking marks on my throat; why I didn't bring back my backpack; why I have been in such a strange mood.

My brother also cannot understand what could have possibly happened that was so bad; bad enough to get me crying so often. He is giving me time. Now that I took the courage to put this down on paper, I finally feel ready to tell him the whole story. Tomorrow, possibly.

I'll consider myself lucky if he doesn't institutionalize me afterwards.

One of the first questions that I asked him, as soon as I woke up from fainting: did The Devil's Rejects really hit the theaters on the 22nd?

"What kind of question is that?" he wanted to know. "You talked about it day and night before it came, and you dragged me along with you to watch it. You don't remember? Have you hit your head in Ruggsville, sister?"

So it did happen.

On that same night, I went to the movie theater again. My brother offered to go with me, given my extremely agitated mental state since I arrived. But I needed to be alone.

While everybody else was chatting, chewing on popcorn and slurping soda, I was shaking insanely, biting at my own hand to try and calm down. I opened my purse and removed the precious, priceless object.

Otis' t-shirt. I had missed him so much – on my stupid stubbornness to stay far from him – that I had taken the habit of carrying his t-shirt around in my pant's pocket, sniffing it every once in a while. That's how I still had it with me when I escaped back home.

From the moment the movie started, to the minute it ended, I couldn't will myself to stop crying, pressing the beloved t-shirt against my face, still smelling Otis in it. I was annoying everybody in the theater, but I couldn't care less.

The movie began with what I experienced that same morning – Tiny dragging a body, cops arriving, shooting the house, the whole thing. There should be an actress playing _me_, I told myself in a weak attempt to humor. I was already missing my friends' real faces, but the actors were all I had to see the story again.

At every second of the film, I hoped ardently that things had gone slightly different. Maybe I've altered the past, I hoped; maybe they didn't have a sad ending. Unfortunately, the entire movie was exactly the same as it was before. I had proven myself completely useless to save my friends, or to cause the story any changes at all. At the end, everybody died, and people left the movie theater chatting about the great movie that they had just watched.

No changes occurred in the movie. Except for a little, tiny one. A detail, really. Later on, fans across the world were discussing it in online message boards, wondering what the heck did that detail have to do with the plot, and who was this chick that the characters had briefly referred to. No one seemed to have a clue.

The scene was the one where the house was on fire, and Tiny had just rescued Otis, Baby and Spaulding. Those three were in the car, ready to hit the road; Otis asked: "Are you sure about this?" and Tiny signaled that he was going to stay. So far, same old stuff.

But then something different happened. Tiny spoke his only line on the movie. That deep voice that scared everybody else, but was so beautiful to me. He told Otis: "Laura said she was going back home. She said she loves you."

I cried harder when I heard that – but it was tears of joy. I had never told him that I loved him. Now he knew it. Otis answer to that, however, made me laugh and cry at the same time.

He looked up at Tiny, then straight ahead, in contemplative silence for a few seconds. Finally he spoke, looking at nobody, as if he were talking to himself; he had a very sad smile on his face. "Laura, I love you, too. Soon, I am also going back home."

And without looking back, they hit the road.

**THE END**


End file.
